d Reuben, "wide, wide open--so wide, Marten;" and he
made his brother understand that he had gone inside without stirring it
the least little bit.

"It was open, you say," replied the elder boy, "but how could that be?
You or some one have been careless, very careless, Reuben; for it is
certain the birds could not open it for themselves." Reuben was about to
cry again, but Marten soothed him, for all at once Marten remembered
that the careless--very careless person was none other than himself; for
on the day before, whilst Reuben was sweeping out the aviary, Marten had
called him hurriedly, and though the child had once proposed to return,
his brother had kept him by his side for some trifling purpose, and so
they had both forgotten the aviary door was open. However, the doves
were gone, and they must be reclaimed, if alive, but if dead--what a sad
story would there be for Mrs. Mortimer. So the books were put by, and
the two boys went out in search of the birds, and Reuben, who understood
their ways, took the precaution to carry with him the box in which their
food was usually placed. On this occasion there was a nice piece of cake
put into the box, which was to be crumbled for the doves, and Reuben
knew that they liked cake as well as he did himself, and more especially
the kind of cake which cook had given him.

Have you ever heard of a person who it is said once looked for a needle
in a pottle of hay? for if so, you may picture to yourself the feelings
of Marten when he started to find the ringdoves. But perhaps you will
say, anyhow, the needle would lie still, unless the man who was
searching for it should shake the straw too roughly, and throw it out,
therefore the space of its concealment, being a limited space, supposing
the pottle the very largest ever made, there would be a chance in time
of its discovery, but not so the case of the birds. They had wings to
fly with, and miles of lovely blue sky to fly through, and green
branches to rest on, and harvest fields to alight in, that is if they
were in the land of the living; but, perhaps, after all, mistress pussy
had destroyed them, and their pretty feathers, perhaps their only
relics left, might be so scattered by the wind, that already they might
be yards and yards separated from each other. With these sad forebodings
clouding his brow, Marten set off with Reuben on his search, feeling
that it was a hopeless one, and not one word did the boy utter to all
Reuben