For the remainder of the day, John's head was full of poetry. He had found a copy of Wordsworth in the library, and after lunch, when every one disappeared for a nap, he stole up to his bedroom, successfully evading Vernley, who, he knew, would cover him with derision if detected. Fortunately Vernley had gone across to the vicarage with a message, and he was detained there with lemonade and mince pies for a whole hour. In that time John read through "The Idle Shepherd Boys" and "Lucy Gray." He then attempted "The Excursion" and found it altogether too much for him, save one jolly bit-- "_He loved; from a swarm of rosy boys Singled me out, as he in sport would say, For my grave looks, too thoughtful for my years,_" which ministered to his egotism, and helped him to build up visions of long walks with Mr. Steer, in which he saw down into the soul of a poet. He had given up "The Excursion" in despair, but later, turning over the pages, he recognised the lines Vernley had quoted. Like an old friend they seemed. He had just finished the "Lines composed about Tintern Abbey," when Vernley, or Bobbie as the household called him, burst in, searching for him. "Scissors, I've been all over the house--what are you doing?" "Reading." John closed the book and half hid it behind him, but Vernley was too sharp and made a grab. One look, and the secret was out. "Scissors! I've a good mind to scrag you." "If you can--but isn't it ripping-- _Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air--_ --it's like eating caramels." "If you say it again, I will scrag you!" "_Whose dwelling is the light--_" began John provocatively. Vernley leapt upon him and they went down together, John underneath. "Say it again, Scissors!" cried Vernley, holding John's head firmly to the floor. John wriggled and tried to shift the hand over his mouth. "Whose dwelling is the--" he managed to get out before he was choked. There was a wild scrimmage which ended with a great crash. They had cannoned into the washstand, and the jug and basin lay in a thousand fragments. "Golly!--what a mess!" commented Vernley from where he lay, surveying the ruins. "Will your mater be angry?" asked John nervously. "No--she's used to having things smashed--it's a family failing. I've made a mess of your collar, you'll have to put a clean one on. Old Crimp's coming to tea, I've just been to the vicarage. He's a dreadful old bore--but he's got a ripping kid. I can't think how he did it." "Did what?" asked John naïvely. Vernley looked a him for a moment, and then went scarlet. "Scissors," he said, taking his arm, "you are a bit of an angel--" "_Whose dwelling--_" began John derisively. "Shut up!--do you want to smash the looking glass next? Get your collar on--there's the gong for tea."