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Good evening. In this episode, I'll be reading chapters 3 and 4 of The Black Arrow, a tale

of two roses by Robert Louis Stevenson. So let your eyes fall heavy and your breath

soften as we settle in for a peaceful night's sleep.

The River Till was a wide sluggish, clayy water oozing out to fence, and in this part

of its course, it strained among some score of willow-covered marshy eyelids. It was a dingy

strain, but upon this bright, spirited morning, everything was become beautiful. The wind

and the mountains broke it up into innumerable dimples, and the reflection of the sky was

scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue. A creek ran up to meet the

path and close under the bank, the ferryman's hut lay snugly. It was off-water and clay, and

the grass grew green upon the roof. Dick went to the door and opened it, within upon a

found old russet cloak. The ferryman lay stretched and shivering, a great hulk of a man,

...