Side by side, without a word, the parents knelt down, and with eyes wet with tears of joyfulness, poured out their hearts in passionate prayer for their young and beloved boys.
Very happily the next month glided away; a new life seemed opened to Eric in the world of rich affections which had unfolded itself before him.

His parents--above all, his mother--were everything that he had longed for; and Vernon more than fulfilled to his loving heart the ideal of his childish fancy.

He was never tired of playing with and patronising his little brother, and their rambles by stream and hill made those days appear the happiest he had ever spent.

Every evening (for he had not yet laid aside the habits of childhood) he said his prayers by his mother's knee, and at the end of one long summer's day, when prayers were finished, and full of life and happiness he lay down to sleep, "O mother," he said, "I am so happy--I like to say my prayers when you are here." "Yes, my boy, and God loves to hear them." "Aren't there some who never say prayers, mother ?" "Very many, love, I fear." "How unhappy they must be! I shall _always_ love to say my prayers." "Ah, Eric, God grant that you may!" And the fond mother hoped he always would.

But these words often came back to Eric's mind in later and less happy days--days when that gentle hand could no longer rest lovingly on his head--when those mild blue eyes were dim with tears, and the fair boy, changed in heart and life, often flung himself down with an unreproaching conscience to prayerless sleep.
It had been settled that in another week Eric was to go to school in the Isle of Roslyn.