As Mr. Delancey had never shown any interest in the matter of their board, they still continued to "victual," as Wilkins called it, at the restaurant, and sleep at the store. By dint of working a little before going to bed every night, the brothers, without reminding Wilkins of his promise to "see to it," had managed to make their sleeping apartment present a very habitable appearance. As every moment of their time, since their arrival, had been taken up with business, they remained in their room the first Sunday, without going to church; feeling that for each of them to pour into the fond breast of their distant mother all the thoughts, feelings, and events, which they had experienced since they had left her side, would be as acceptable to Him whose day it was, as to attend church, leaving her to mourn in anxious uncertainty as to their safety or happiness. The succeeding Sabbath, however, they rose early, and, after performing their devotional exercises, prepared themselves to attend public worship. While waiting for the bell to ring, they sought Wilkins, for the purpose of inquiring what church Mr. Delancey attended. Wilkins had taken possession of the merchant's seat at the high desk when they found him, and, as usual had his coat off, reading. He looked up, apparently a good deal surprised, as they put the question to him, and exclaimed, rather dryly: "Why, you don't say you're going to church!" "Certainly, Mr. Wilkins. Won't you go with us?" "Ah! not I." "Do you never go?" "I used to, but it was a long time ago. You forget that I have been in New-Orleans five years." "No, we don't forget that. Mr. Hull said, the other day, that Mr. Delancey would never get as good a clerk as you again, or one that would be as faithful, and remain with him so long. But does being here a few years make any difference about going to church?" "I'm afraid you'll find so." "How can you spend so much unoccupied time without church, Wilkins?" said Guly, earnestly, stepping up on the chair round, and seating himself quietly on the head clerk's knee. Wilkins flung down the novel he had been reading, and, reaching out his strong arms, clasped both hands round the slender figure sitting there, and, throwing back his head, looked thoughtfully into the boy's blue eyes. "I spend it," said he, at length, speaking in a suppressed voice, and more as if talking to himself than another, "in racing on the Shell Road, in betting on fast horses, in excursions out of town, and in visiting"--he stopped short, then added, through his shut teeth, after an instant's pause--"places which I hope to God you'll never know more about than you do now." "Are you going to the race-course to-day?" asked Guly, suddenly lifting his head. "I don't feel quite well. No, I reckon not," returned Wilkins, disjointedly, and moving uneasily in his chair. "I weary you," said the boy, gently essaying to leave his seat on the head clerk's knee.