“Oh! master Marten, master Marten!” said nurse, laughing again—­“I see, if it depended upon you, we should all be in a bad way, and so the poor birds are to be locked up, are they:  and master Reuben is not to be allowed to go into the aviary to talk to them, as the little one loves to do—­and all for what?  Give me a steady ruler, if you please—­not such as you, master Marten—­a fine head of a family you will make, if one may judge of your boasted management of the doves in the first part of the story, and then the leaving the aviary door open and finishing with locking them up and keeping the key yourself.  Well for their happiness—­mistress will soon be at home to attend to them herself; but what are you going to do with the child, my own darling?  I can’t have any tricks played with him, I tell you.”

“Tricks, nurse,” repeated Marten passionately.  “What? do you mean to say I would play tricks with my own brother?  No one loves Reuben, I am sure, better than I do, unless it is mamma.  What do you mean, nurse?”

“What do you mean, then, master Marten, by saying you are going to take the child amongst strangers, neither me nor his mamma being with him, and he never accustomed to strangers—­and company in the house too—­I don’t half like it—­and I know I feel half inclined to say he shan’t go.”

“And pray under whose charge was he left?” asked Marten.  “Your’s or mine, nurse?  I should like to know.”

“It was much of a muchness,” replied the good woman.  “Missis said to you, take care of your brother; but missis knew I loved the sweet darling too dearly to require even half a word on the subject.  And supposing he does go with you, master Marten, who is to put the dear child to bed at nights?  I must insist, indeed I must, that you see to it yourself.  I know how frightened he will be amongst strangers at bed time.”

“To be sure I will, nurse,” said Marten, glad to see the good woman was so far giving in to his wishes.  “I promise not only to sleep with him, but to take him to bed myself and stay with him till he is asleep.”

“Well, well, master Marten,” exclaimed nurse impatiently—­“Well, well, don’t undertake too much and then do nothing; and I must say again,” she continued warming with her subject, “that the child had better be left at home where there are plenty to look after him, and not be carried off to that strange house, away from us all.”

“Oh! me go with Marten, nurse, dear nurse! me go with Marten!” said little Reuben imploringly, for the child had just joined them in time to hear nurse’s last remark.  “Oh!  Reuben so like to go with Marten.”

“You don’t know what is best for you, silly one,” replied nurse, “nor who is your truest friend either, but your little head is bent upon being a man soon, and you must ever be trying to do what your brother does.  But, master Marten, how can you play or go about with master Jameson, and yet attend to this child too?”