sinclination to fulfil all his duties--so slight, indeed, that he
would have been very angry if any one had spoken to him about it, and
hinted at the truth. In this frame of mind, though most things were
done, some few were slurred over, particularly the Latin Exercise and
Grammar, for Marten's papa had not set him any task, and had even said
Marten might have a holiday during his absence; and at any other time
the boy would have been glad of this indulgence, but now he fancied
himself so good, that he believed he could do everything, and everything
well.

"I will do an exercise to-morrow, Reuben," said Marten. "Papa does not
expect any done, and if I have one for every other day to shew him, he
will be very much pleased, I know."

Reuben, as may be supposed, could not make a suitable reply to this; for
all he understood about it was, that Marten was going out with him
instead of staying at home to do that troublesome Latin. So Reuben was
pleased and Marten was thoughtless, and out together they went and
enjoyed themselves not a little, in the pleasant autumn weather.

Thus hours passed on, and the third day brought a letter from Mrs.
Mortimer, which was not quite satisfactory, for it said that the
business which took her and her husband from home could not be easily
settled, and they feared they would be detained a whole fortnight at
Portsmouth. Mrs. Mortimer, however, was not uneasy about her boys, for
she knew that the servants, with whom she had left them, were quiet
steady persons, who would not allow them to do what was wrong without
speaking to them; and then Reuben was such an universal favourite, that
she felt sure no one would be wilfully unkind to him. But above all,
Mrs. Mortimer trusted her children with Him who "knoweth our frame and
remembereth we are but dust." Psal. ciii. 14.

Mrs. Mortimer had been absent about a week, and Marten was still in
ignorance of the weakness of human nature, at least as far as he was
himself personally concerned, when one morning Reuben came running to
him in great distress, to say that the doves were missing--his mamma's
own pretty birds that she loved so much; and Reuben, whose tears were
somewhat too ready, began to cry, for he feared, poor child, the cat had
eaten them, or some other misfortune equally distressing had befallen
them.

"Was the door of the aviary open?" asked Marten. "Are you sure it was
open, Reuben? or did you open it yourself?"

"It was open," sai