Away in the distance, a mountain lifted itself against the clear blue
sky. At its base rolled a broad, deep river. Nestling down in a valley
that intervened, reposed the charming little village with its neat
cottages, white church, little red school house and one or two mansions
that told of wealth. Here and there in the distance a pond was visible;
while farm houses and humbler dwellings dotted the picture in every
direction.

Such was the home of three promising children, who for the last three
months had been constant members of the village Sunday School. The eldest
was a girl of some fourteen years. John, the second, was a bright, amiable
lad of eleven. The other the little rosy-cheeked, laughing Ella, with
her golden curls and sunny smile had just gathered the roses of her ninth
summer.

The father of these interesting children was the rich Captain Lowe. He
was a man of mark, such, in many respects as are often found in rural
districts. Strictly moral, intelligent and well read, kind-hearted and
naturally benevolent, he attracted all classes of community to himself
and wielded great influence in his town.

But, not withstanding all these excellences, Mr. Lowe was an infidel.
He ridiculed in his good-natured way, the idea of prayer, looked upon
conversion as a solemn farce, and believed the most of professing
Christians were well-meaning but deluded people. He was well versed in
all the subtle arguments of infidel writers, had studied the Bible quite
carefully, and could argue against it in the most plausible manner.
Courteous and kind to all, few could be offended at his frank avowal of
infidel principles, or resent his keen, half-jovial sarcasms upon the
peculiarities of some weak-minded, though sincere members of the church.