It seemed so at first.  He was a bright, handsome youth, and came home in fine spirits, and with a manner full of affection for parents, brothers and sisters.  She did not wonder at Lucy’s fond pride in her eldest son.

“Phil,” said his mother, following him into his room that night, “you have made a good impression, and I’m very anxious you shouldn’t spoil it; so do try to keep on your good behavior while the Travillas stay.”

“I intend to, Mrs. Ross,” he returned, with a laugh.  Elsie, little Elsie’s been my little lady love since the first time my eyes lighted on her, and I know that if I want to secure the prize, I’ve got to keep on the right side of her father and mother.”

Lucy laughed.  “You are beginning early, Phil,” she said.  “I advise you not to say a word of your hopes in their hearing, for ten years to come.”

“Trust me for managing the thing, ma,” he returned, nodding his head wisely.  “But do you s’pose now, they’d be so outrageously unreasonable as to expect a fellow to be quite perfect?” he queried, striking a match and lighting a cigar.

“Phil!  Phil! throw that away!” she said, trying to snatch it from him.

He sprang nimbly aside, “No, you don’t, ma!  Why shouldn’t I smoke as well as my father?  Ministers smoke too, and lots of good people.”

“But you’re too young to begin yet, and I know your Aunt Elsie would be horrified.  She’d think you a very fast boy and hurry away with her children, lest they should be contaminated by your bad example.”

“Well,” he answered, puffing away, “I’ll not let her or them know I ever indulge.  I’ll only smoke up here and at night, and the smell will be all off my breath by morning.”

“I wish you’d give it up entirely.  Where did you ever learn it?”

“Comes natural; guess I inherited the taste.  But nearly all the fellows at school do it—­on the sly.”

“Ah, Phil, I’m afraid you’re a sad fellow!” Lucy said, shaking her head reprovingly; but he could see the smile shining in her fond, admiring eyes, and lurking about the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, come now, ma, I’m not so bad; not the worst fellow in the world.  I wouldn’t do a mean thing.”

“No, of course not,” she said, kissing him good-night, and leaving him with a parting, “Don’t forget to say your prayers, Phil.”

Mr. and Mrs. Ross were not Christian parents; careful and solicitous about the temporal welfare of their children, they gave little thought to their spiritual needs.  Lucy taught them, in their infancy, to say their prayers before lying down to rest at night, as they grew older sent them to Sunday-school, took them to church on pleasant Sabbath mornings, when it was convenient, and she felt inclined to go herself, and provided each one with a copy of the Bible.

This was about the extent of the religious training they received; and it was strongly counteracted by the worldly atmosphere of their home, the worldly example set them by their parents, and the worldly maxims and precepts constantly instilled into their young minds.