She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. He could not possibly lunge in the confined space, and so had nothing to do but back himself into the chapel as fast as he could. Mr. Bring in his comrade," he added, in a whisper to Charcam; "I'll take care of him. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. The lad looked alarmed.
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