It was so; some neighbour driving home from Coltham had taken pains to tell Abel Fletcher where he had seen his son--at the very last place a Friend's son ought to be seen--the play-house.

We knew that it was by no means to learn the truth, but to confront us with it, that my father--reaching the parlour, and opening the shutters that the hard daylight should shame us more and more--asked the stern question-- "Phineas, where hast thee been ?" John answered for me.

"At the theatre at Coltham.

It was my fault.

He went because I wished to go." "And wherefore didst thee wish to go ?" "Wherefore ?" the answer seemed hard to find.