This went on hour after hour. Tut-Gut tried every piece of trickery his wily brain could come up with, and Sophy had to work hard to out-think him. By the end of the night, her hands were covered in little wounds, she had fallen over three times and bruised her knees and legs, and her temper was wearing thin.
But Tut-Gut’s tricks were in vain. Sophy sewed and sewed until her fingers hurt and began to bleed, and by the time the first rays of morning began to filter into the room, she had completed her labours. New curtains hung at every window, neatly stitched out of coloured patches; the rugs had been mended and renewed; cushions padded not only Tut-Gut’s rocking chair but his bed as well. He had a new shirt, trousers and cloak: they were not at all refined, but they were much better than
