Friday came round soon after, and then little Eugene learned where he stood.  Then he saw what hypocrites the self-styled priest, his wife, and all in his house were.  He had perceived his reverence help himself plentifully to fat meat; and Eugene was invited to eat it himself, but declined, saying, “I would be a Protestant if I eat meat on Friday; and I fear ye are all here Protestants.”  A suppressed laugh was all that his remark could elicit from these worthies whose gluttony gave him such scandal.

Eugene’s eyes were further opened by some boys at school, who laughed heartily at his expense when he asked about the “strange mass” that he had heard on Sunday.

“What mass?” said they; “sure it is only the Popish priests that offer mass, and it is a wicked thing to go to mass.”

The poor child, on seeing the snare laid for him, burst into tears and wept aloud, calling for his brother Paul by name, and crying, “O woe! woe! woe!”

The school madam was attracted by the lamentable cries of the lad, and, learning the cause of them, reprimanded the impudent boys, and tried to console him.  Her attempts were, however, in vain.  The child seeing himself sold and betrayed, his candid soul fell back to its former melancholy, and he drooped under the weight of the injustice of which he was the victim.

From that day forward he refused to attend either the night prayers of the “false priest,” or to go to any of his meetings, and to the hour of his death this resolution could never be shaken by all the wiles of his persecutors.  Several new arts and schemes were tried to vanquish his resolution, but all to no purpose.  He was alternately coaxed and threatened, but all attempts either to flatter or force him proved ineffectual.  He was several times locked up in a dark room, which was the terror of a young nephew of the parson, who was in the house, but which had far less terror for this young confessor than the smiles of his false friends.  He was heard by young Sam, who often went to the door of the dread prison, chanting his favorite hymn, thus:—­

   “Ave Maria! hear the prayer
    Of thy poor, helpless child;
    Beneath thy sweet, maternal care,
    Preserve me undefiled.”

And when spoken to through the keyhole, he answered that he was not a bit afraid of “Spookes,” and that there was plenty of light for him to say his prayers.  Even the parson himself, in company with his wife, went to listen at the door of where their prisoner was confined, and for a moment their hard hearts even were softened by the sweet, plaintive chant of the “Ave Maria.”

“Are you sorry for your disobedience, now, Eugene?” said the parson; “and will you attend prayers and meeting when you are told?”

“I can’t promise to do what would displease God, and what my brother Paul and the priest told me not to do, sir,” said the child.

“Don’t you know, Eugene, the priest is a wicked man, and the Lord will punish you in a dark dungeon, darker than that room you are in, if you do not do what I tell you?” added the persecuting parson.