Aunt and niece had spent hours already in serious talk over the possibilities and dangers of this young man.
"He used to be such a good boy," would Aunt Mattie say, with a sigh, and then hasten to correct herself: "Not but that he is a good boy now, so devoted to his mother and sister, so careful of their comfort! There isn't a better boy in the city in all such ways; but you know what I mean. He used to go to church as regularly as I do, and to Sabbath-school. I have a box full of reward cards which he received in the school for perfect lessons when he was a little boy; and he used to go to prayer meeting, too, and seemed to like to go; his father would often remark on its being unusual in such a little fellow. But he fell in with those unfortunate companions, and little by little the change came. Why, he had stayed at home from church for five or six successive weeks before I realized it! There always seemed to be a good reason; and now he only goes occasionally of an evening, and as for Sabbath-school, he seems to be disgusted with the very thought of it!
"Every Sabbath, he goes out for a walk, or sometimes a ride, with a party of young men who are far from being of the sort that a mother would choose for her son's companions, and he goes less and less to church, even in the evenings.
"Since Mr. Easton has come here, I have tried very hard to induce Phil to go to Sabbath-school. I thought if he would but go once into that Bible class, he would be attracted; for Mr. Easton has such a winning way with young men, and Phil is so intellectual, that he could not fail to be pleased. We have done our best, Blanche and I, but he seems fully resolved upon having nothing to do with Sunday-school in any form. I am so disappointed! For I had really counted a great deal on Mr. Easton's influence, but of course he can't do anything so long as Phil avoids him. My dear, there is another thing on which I am counting now, and that is your influence over Phil.
"If you can induce him to go to Sunday-school once, to please you, I believe that a good deal would be accomplished. And you know boys will often do for a young and pretty cousin what they will not even for a mother."
This is only a general view of the numerous talks which had been held on the same subject since Daisy Morris had come from her distant home to visit Aunt Hattie Hurst.
Many particulars had been added from time to time, and Daisy's quick eyes had seen some things of which she did not speak to either mother or sister. She believed that her handsome young cousin was in more danger than his own family realized. She know that the cigarettes which he smoked grew daily more numerous, and she had once or twice detected the odor of wine about him, and had been frightened over a certain gay recklessness which was unlike his usual courtesy. She believed that, while the restraints of a business life and the responsibility of standing somewhat, at least, in his dead father's place, held him in check during the week, the freedom of Sunday and the influence of his chosen friends were dragging him downward faster than his mother knew.
She had tried hard to use her influence in the right direction; but while she certainly had influence with him, it was not strong enough to draw him to church or to the Sabbath-school.
Since Daisy had made acquaintance with the new pastor, Mr. Easton, and joined his Bible Class, she had begun to share her aunt's almost superstitious belief that if Phil could only be gotten under that man's influence, great things would be accomplished.
But it was just that man's influence which he seemed determined to avoid. Only the Sabbath before had Daisy spent the entire morning coaxing and arguing, being gayly answered by her quick-witted cousin; she alternately hopeful and fearful; but so earnest had been her effort and her prayer, that hope had really predominated until she saw him drive away from the door with one of his friends, just as she was tying her ribbons in a flutter of haste to catch him and make one last effort. After that she sat down in a little heap before her window and cried, and told herself that it was of no use, she had done all she could.