school was daily opened.  Hence they were more than once publicly prayed for by the fanatical Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Mr. Gulmore, at whose church the Prying family attended.  There was a sufficiency of prayers now “put up,” in Mr. Gulmore’s opinion, to begin the work of more practical conversion.  Accordingly, a “big dinner” was prepared, a turkey cooked, and Friday fixed upon—­the appetite being chosen, after a very ancient pattern in paradise, as the channel through which to “open the eyes” of these blind young Papists!  Some neighboring ministers were of opinion that it was too soon to begin; but they were but Methodist, Universalist, and other preachers, who were jealous of the influence and of the salary of Mr. Gulmore, and who, besides, did not think it exactly fair that all the children should be converted to Presbyterianism, while there were a dozen as good denominations around, “and better too.”  But the good-salaried disciple of John Calvin had no respect for such opinion; so “forthwith the good work must begin,” as he authoritatively said.  He should not be trifled with any longer, or have it said that, after all the prayers “put up,” and pains taken, “they should still be left wallowing in the mire of Popery.”

“It should not be!  It could not be!  The power of the Lord must be made manifest.  He could not any longer allow the light to remain under a bushel.  It should shine, and he should then and there convert those obstinate young things to vital religion.”

“Some turkey, Paul, my dear?” said Gulmore, after having first served the ladies and senior members of the family.

“Not any, sir, thank you,” said Paul.

“Not any!” repeated the parson, frowning.  “Why so?  That’s not good manners, my lad.”

“If it be not, I am sorry, sir,” said Paul.  “I cannot be expected to be very polite, or to know the usages of this country, as yet.  So I beg to be excused.”

“You should not refuse the gifts of God when offered you,” replied his reverence.

“But I do not think it would be good for me to use these gifts of God in the present instance.”

“You must eat meat, Paul, and use the good things of our glorious country, or you will fail and die.”

“I know I will die,” said Paul; “and I guess eating turkey won’t make me immortal.”

A loud laugh followed this remark from all but the parson and a female member of the family.  This “raised his dander a leetle,” as old uncle Jacob afterwards used to say.

“That is more unmannerly still, Paul,” said the parson.

“You think you are smart; but I tell you, child, you are ignorant, and impudent to boot.”

“I should be sorry to make a saucy or impudent answer to any body, much more to a clergyman of any church; but I thought you were aware that it is counted very insulting to Catholics to offer them meat on Fridays, as if they were apostates who would sell their souls for a ’mess of pottage;’ and I thought you were aware that we are Catholics, and that our religion forbids us to eat flesh on Friday.”