"Did you happen to remember," said Felicia, coming to the door, spoon in
hand, "that the Kirk has a birthday this week?"
"It _has_?" exclaimed Ken. "I say, I'd forgotten."
"It's going to be nine; think of that!" said Phil. "Woof! My kettle's
boiling over!" She made a hasty exit, while Ken collared his brother and
looked him over.
"Who'd ha' thunk it!" he said. "Well, well, what's to be done about
this?"
"Lots," said Felicia, suddenly appearing with the supper. "_Lots!_"
CHAPTER XI
THE NINE GIFTS
Two evenings later, Ken confronted his sister at the foot of the stairs
as she came down from seeing Kirk to bed.
"Where," said Ken, "is your Braille slate?"
"_What_," said Felicia, "do you want with a Braille slate, if I may
ask?"
"You mayn't," said Ken, conclusively.
"But it makes a difference," Phil argued. "If you want to write Braille
with it,--which seems unlikely,--I'll consider. But if you want it to
prop open the door with, or crack nuts on, or something, you can't have
it."
"I can think of lots better things to crack nuts on than a Braille
slate," said Ken. "I want to use it for its rightful purpose. Come now,
my girl, out with it!"
"Wish you luck," said Felicia, going to the educational shelf; "here it
is."
Ken eyed it mistrustfully--a slab of wood, crossed by a movable metal
strip which was pierced with many small, square openings. "Also," said
Ken, "the alphabet of the language.
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