room. The door was slightly open, and she was pushing against it, but it wouldn't open. But, Mashi, you’re going too far,— you ought to let her see that I am dying; otherwise my death will be a terrible shock to her."
"Baba, let me put this shawl over your feet; they are getting cold."
"No, Mashi, I can't bear anything over me like that."
"Do you know, Jotin, Mani made this shawl for you? When she ought to have been asleep, she was busy at it. It was finished only yesterday."
Jotin took the shawl, and touched it tenderly with his hands. It seemed to him that the softness of the wool was Mani's own. Her loving thoughts had been woven night after night with its threads. It was not made merely of wool, but also of her touch. Therefore, when Mashi drew that shawl over his feet, it seemed as if, night after night, Mani had been caressing his tired limbs.
"But, Mashi, I thought Mani didn't know how to knit,— at any rate she never liked it."
"It doesn't take long to learn a thing. Of course I had to teach her. Then there are a good many mistakes in it."
