A Little Protestant in Rome by Eglanton Thorne

Not Ashamed of his Faith.

"I LIKE that big wound wooin," said Paul Bernard, sprawling across his mother's knees in his endeavour to gaze till the last moment in which they could be seen at the mighty sunlit walls rising against the deep, pure blue of the Roman sky.

"Sit up, Paul, directly. You are hurting me. What a rude, rough little boy you are getting! And I wish you would not say wooin. You can sound your r's if you take the trouble."

Paul fell back in his seat as the carriage turned a corner and the famous ruin passed from his sight. He was in no way disturbed by his mother's fretful reproof, for he was accustomed to being alternately snubbed and idolised, and could deport himself with equanimity under either experience. He had not yet seen his fifth summer; but he was already somewhat of a philosopher, able to take things as they came, and to possess his soul in patience when it was impossible to mould circumstances to his will.

Mrs. Bernard sighed as she shook out the folds of her gown, which Paul's impetuous action had disarranged. She was young and pretty and elegantly attired, but her face wore a sad and listless expression. She spoke with a slight drawl and an intonation which betrayed her American birth.

"I suppose it is the correct thing to visit the Coliseum by moonlight," she observed; "at any rate, it is what all my compatriots appear to do."

"Yes, and it is really worth while, although everyone does it," replied her companion, a lady a few years older, whose dress indicated that she was a widow. "I advise you to choose a night when the moon is not too brilliant. One gets finer effects of light and shade, and a deeper sense of mystery pervades the vast arena, when the moon is contending with clouds than when the sky is absolutely clear."

"Indeed! " said Mrs. Bernard indifferently. "Then I must try to go on some such night."

"May I go, mother? " asked Paul eagerly.

"You, my dear child! " said his mother's friend. "You will be snug in bed and fast asleep, long before your mother sets out."

"No, I sha'n't. I don't go to bed so early as you think," he protested; "and I am often awake when Janet comes to bed. I may go, mayn't I, mother?"

"You go! Nonsense! You will be much better in bed," said his mother. "Now, Paul, don't begin to worry me! I will not have it. I should like you to accompany me, Mrs. Dunton, when I go."

"With pleasure," said that lady; "I love to visit the Coliseum. To me it is one of the most sacred places on earth, and I greatly regret that the spot where so many Christian martyrs suffered is no longer marked by a cross. I should like to have known it when there were shrines there at which one could offer prayers."

Paul's blue eyes grew big with wonder as he listened to her words.

"Why can't you pray there now? " he asked.

"Why? Because it is no longer possible," said the lady, a little puzzled how to answer the child's abrupt question. "The Coliseum is no longer a holy place, except for its memories."

"But I thought that God was everywhere," said Paul, looking puzzled in his turn; "and that we could speak to Him in any place? I do, and He hears me too."

"Now, Paul, be quiet," said his mother. "Little boys must not talk about things they do not understand."

"But I do understand," said Paul; "nurse has told me."

"There! There! That will do," said his mother, holding her neatly-gloved hand before his lips. "Not another word!"