" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. You were very good. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. ‘Not in the open street. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. ’ ‘But she must have known I’d longed to hear of you.
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