“If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. I’m a little tired. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry.
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