“What has detained you to-day, my dearest boy?  No accident, I trust, has happened to you on the way.”

“Oh, none, I assure you, sweetest mother; on the contrary, all has been so delightful that I can scarcely venture to tell you.”

A look of smiling, expostulation drew from the open-hearted boy a delicious laugh, as he continued:  “Well, I suppose I must.  You know I am never happy if I have failed to tell you all the bad and the good of the day about myself.  But, to-day, for the first time, I have a doubt whether I ought to tell you all.”

Did the mother’s heart flutter more than usual, as from a first anxiety, or was there a softer solicitude dimming her eye, that the youth should seize her hand and put it tenderly to his lips, while he thus replied: 

“Fear nothing, mother most beloved, your son has done nothing that may give you pain.  Only say, do you wish to hear all that has befallen me to-day, or only the cause of my late return home?”

“Tell me all, dear Pancratius,” she answered; “nothing that concerns you can be indifferent to me.”

“Well, then,” he began, “this last day of my frequenting school appears to me to have been singularly blessed.  First, I was crowned as the successful competitor in a declamation, which our good master Cassianus set us for our work during the morning hours; and this led, as you will hear, to some singular discoveries.  The subject was, ’That the real philosopher should be ever ready to die for the truth.’  I never heard anything so cold or insipid (I hope it is not wrong to say so) as the compositions read by my companions.  It was not their fault, poor fellows! what truth can they possess, and what inducements can they have to die for any of their vain opinions?  But to a Christian, what charming suggestions such a theme naturally makes!  And so I felt it.  My heart glowed, and all my thoughts seemed to burn, as I wrote my essay, full of the lessons you have taught me, and of the domestic examples that are before me.  The son of a martyr could not feel otherwise.  But when my turn came to read my declamation, I found that my feelings had nearly betrayed me.  In the warmth of my recitation, the word ‘Christian’ escaped my lips instead of ‘philosopher,’ and ‘faith’ instead of ‘truth,’ At the first mistake, I saw Cassianus start; at the second, I saw a tear glisten in his eye, as bending affectionately towards me, he said, in a whisper, ‘Beware, my child, there are sharp ears listening.’”

“What, then,” interrupted the mother, “is Cassianus a Christian?  I chose his school because it was in the highest repute for learning and morality; and now indeed I thank God that I did so.  But in these days of danger we are obliged to live as strangers in our own land.  Certainly, had Cassianus proclaimed his faith, his school would soon have been deserted.  But go on, my dear boy.  Were his apprehensions well grounded?”

“I fear so; for while the great body of my school-fellows vehemently applauded my hearty declamation, I saw the dark eyes of Corvinus bent scowlingly upon me, as he bit his lip in manifest anger.”