his
audience. "My father," he says, "not only heard with delight the daily
chapter, but set himself actively to collaborate. When the time came for
Billy Bones' chest to be ransacked, he must have passed the better part
of a day preparing on the back of a legal envelope an inventory of its
contents, which I exactly followed, and the name of Flint's old ship,
the Walrus, was given at his particular request."

When the map was redrawn for the book it was embellished with "blowing
whales and sailing ships; and my father himself brought into service a
knack he had of various writing, and elaborately _forged_ the signature
of Captain Flint and the sailing directions of Billy Bones."

These daily readings were rare treats to those at Skerryvore, for
Stevenson was a most dramatic reader. "When he came to stand in the
place of Silver you could almost have imagined you saw the great
one-legged John Silver, joyous-eyed, on the rolling sea."

The book was not long in springing into popularity. Not only the boys
enjoyed it but all sorts of staid and sober men became boys once more
and sat up long after bedtime to finish the tale. Mr. Gladstone caught a
glimpse of it at a friend's house and did not rest the next day until he
had procured a copy for himself, and Andrew Lang said: "This is the kind
of stuff a fellow wants. I don't know when, except Tom Sawyer and the
Odyssey, that I ever liked a romance so well."

It was translated into many different languages, even appearing serially
in certain Greek and Spanish papers.

"Kidnapped" followed; a story founded on the Appan murder. David
Balfour, the hero, was one of his own ancestors; Alan Breck had actually
lived, and the Alison who ferried Alan and David over to Torryburn was
one of Cummie's own people. The Highland country where the scenes were
laid, he had traversed many times, and the Island of Earraid, where
David was shipwrecked, was the spot where he had spent some of his
engineering days.

Stevenson had often said the "brownies" in his dreams gave him ideas for
his tales. At Skerryvore they came to him with a story that among all
his others is counted the greatest.

"In the small hours one morning," says his wife, "I was awakened by
cries of horror from Louis. Thinking he had a nightmare I awakened him.
He said angrily, 'Why did you wake me? I was dreaming a fine bogey
tale.'"

The dream was so vivid that he could not rest until he had written off
the story, and it