Historical novel. According to the Dedication: ‘It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them; and my David, having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustre in the British Linen Company’s office, must expect his late reappearance to be greeted with hoots, if not with missiles. Yet, when I remember the days of our explorations, I am not without hope. There should be left in our native city some seed of the elect; some long-legged, hot-headed youth must repeat to-day our dreams and wanderings of so many years ago; he will relish the pleasure, which should have been ours, to follow among named streets and numbered houses the country walks of David Balfour, to identify Dean, and Silvermills, and Broughton, and Hope Park, and Pilrig, and poor old Lochend – if it still be standing, and the Figgate Whins – if there be any of them left; or to push (on a long holiday) so far afield as Gillane or the Bass…’ According to Wikipedia: ‘Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (13 November 1850–3 December 1894), was a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist and travel writer. He was the man who ‘seemed to pick the right word up on the point of his pen, like a man playing spillikins’, as G. K. Chesterton put it.’
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