Here is the first of the notes which Valentine is now reading:-- "Dear Blyth,--My father says Theaters are the Devil's Houses, and I must be home by eleven o'clock.

I'm sure I never did anything wrong at a Theater, which I might not have done just the same anywhere else; unless laughing over a good play is one of the _national sins_ he's always talking about.

I can't stand it much longer, even for my mother's sake! You are my only friend.

I shall come and see you to-morrow, so mind and be at home.

How I wish I was an artist! Yours ever, Z.THORPE, JUN." Shaking his head and smiling at the same time, Mr.Blyth finishes this letter--drops a perfect puddle of dirty paint and turpentine in the middle, over the words "national sins," throws the paper into the fire--and goes on to note number two: "Dear Blyth,--I couldn't come yesterday, because of another quarrel at home, and my mother crying about it, of course.