’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. “It is very doubtful,” he said. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. "Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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