bill.

"But how do you suppose he knows when it is just six o'clock,
_chiquita_?" asked Jose, deeply interested in the strange phenomenon.

"God tells him, Padre," was the direct and simple reply.

Assuredly, he should have known that! But he was fast learning of this
unusual child, whose every movement was a demonstration of Immanuel.

"Does God tell you what to do, Carmen?" he asked, seeking to draw out
the girl's strange thought, that he might probe deeper into her
religious convictions.

"Why, yes, Padre." Her tone expressed surprise. "Doesn't He tell you,
too?" Her great eyes searched him. He was a _Cura_; he should be very
close to God.

"Yes, _chiquita_--that is, He has told me to-day what to do."

There was a shade of disappointment in her voice when she replied: "I
guess you mean you listened to Him to-day, don't you, Padre? I think
sometimes you don't want to hear Him. But," she finished with a little
sigh, "there are lots of people here who don't; and that is why they
are sick and unhappy."

Jose was learning another lesson, that of guarding his speech to this
ingenuous girl. He discreetly changed the subject.

"What have you been doing this afternoon, little one?"

Her eyes instantly brightened, and the dark shade that had crossed her
face disappeared.

"Well, after the _siesta_ I helped madre Maria clean the yuccas for
supper; and then I did my writing lesson. Padre Rosendo told me to-day
that I could write better than he. But, Padre, will you teach madre
Maria to read and write? And there are just lots of poor people here
who can't, too. There is a school teacher in Simiti, but he charges a
whole _peso oro_ a month for teaching; and the people haven't the
money, and so they can't learn."

Always the child shifted his thought from herself to others. Again she
showed him that the road to happiness wound among the needs of his
fellow-men. The priest mentally recorded the instruction; and the girl
continued:

"Padre Rosendo told madre Maria that you said you had come to Simiti
to die. You were not thinking of us then, were you, Padre? People who
think only of themselves always want to die. That was why Don Luis
died last year. He had lots of gold, and he always wanted more, and he
was cruel and selfish, and he couldn't talk about anything but himself
and how rich he was--and so he died. He didn't really die; but he
thought about himself until he thought he died. And so they buried
him. That's