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And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. “I have not the least idea who he is. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. It was dry, as if she had powdered it. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. “No, John, you won’t understand. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. But for me it doesn’t matter.
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