We draw a veil over Mr Burton's feelings when, on the following morning, it becomes manifest that Toddie (whom his mother believes to have an artistic and poetic soul) has been seized with a passion for investigation, and has dived deep into the mysteries of all his uncle's most precious belongings, the result being--chaos. That after this Mr Barton should insist upon locking the door of communication, can scarcely be a matter of surprise; and accordingly an expedition is made into the neighbouring town to obtain a new key--Toddie having dropped the one belonging to the door down the well--during which the conduct of the two boys is simply angelic. The more spiritual part of their nature comes to the surface; their childish imaginations are impressed by the lovely panorama of the distant city which lies outspread before them glistening in the sunshine; and as the pure young voices speak familiarly of the other world and of the dead baby-brother Phillie who is up there with God, we feel how near those white souls are to heaven. The uncle finds their conversation so improving that the drive is prolonged to the 'Falls,' where, suddenly becoming all boy again, they nearly madden their unhappy guardian, who has turned away for a moment to light a cigar, by hanging as far as possible over the cliff, trying hard to overbalance themselves. As he drags them away, his heart is in his mouth. Budge screams: 'Oh, Uncle Harry, I hunged over more than Toddie did.' 'Well, I--I--I--I--I--I hunged over a good deal _anyhow_,' says Toddie in indignant self-defence. To chronicle all the sufferings inflicted by the two dreadful yet irresistible young 'imps' on their unfortunate uncle, would be impossible. Our deepest sympathies are aroused when he despatches to Miss Mayton a box containing a lovely bouquet, and he finds it is delivered to her containing only Toddie's remarkable 'dolly,' which he has contrived to substitute for the flowers. We groan in concert with Mr Burton when his nephews dance frantic war-dances on his chest, a proceeding which with cruel sarcasm they call a 'froolic;' and our pity follows him through the day, as he is alternately ordered by those imperious young gentlemen to produce candy and pennies, to tell them Scripture stories (the imaginative Toddie evincing a decided leaning towards the ghastly), to sing songs, to cut whistles, and to gather 'jacks,' a plant which grows where there is plenty of mud, and whence they all emerge with their Sunday splendour considerably dimmed, in which condition of course they meet Miss Mayton.