And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. The young man did not know what he was doing or where he was. Why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us. ” “You want to change my look, yes?” Lucy peered at her. \" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from.
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