"I put it out to be mended," explained Veronica.

"You opened the door and flung it out. I told you of it at the
time," said Robin. "You do the same with your boots."

"You are too high-spirited for your size," explained Dick to her.
"Try to be less dashing."

"I could also wish, Veronica," I continued, "that you shed your back
comb less easily, or at least that you knew when you had shed it. As
for your gloves--well, hunting your gloves has come to be our leading
winter sport."

"People look in such funny places for them," said Veronica.

"Granted. But be just, Veronica," I pleaded. "Admit that it is in
funny places we occasionally find them. When looking for your things
one learns, Veronica, never to despair. So long as there remains a
corner unexplored inside or outside the house, within the half-mile
radius, hope need not be abandoned."

Veronica was still gazing dreamily into the fire.

"I suppose," said Veronica, "it's reditty."

"It's what?" I said.

"She means heredity," suggested Dick--"cheeky young beggar! I wonder
you let her talk to you the way she does."