on this fresh young mind would put upon the motives of
that renowned exploit. Suddenly she snapped the book shut.

"Tell me about Jesus," she demanded.

The precipitation with which the question had been propounded almost
took his breath away. He raised his eyes to hers, and looked long and
wonderingly into their infinite depths. And then the vastness of the
problem enunciated by her demand loomed before him. What, after all,
did he know about Jesus? Had he not arrived in Simiti in a state of
agnosticism regarding religion? Had he not come there enveloped in
confusion, baffled, beaten, hopeless? And then, after his wonderful
talk with Rosendo, had he not agreed with him that the child's thought
must be kept free and open--that her own instinctive religious ideas
must be allowed to develop normally, unhampered and unfettered by the
external warp and bias of human speculation? It was part of his plan
that all reference to matters theological should be omitted from
Carmen's educational scheme. Yet here was that name on her lips--the
first time he had ever heard it voiced by her. And it smote him like a
hammer. He made haste to divert further inquiry.

"Not now, little one," he said hastily. "I want to hear you read more
from your book."

"No," she replied firmly, laying the volume upon the table. "I don't
like it; and I shouldn't think you would, either. Besides, it isn't
true; it never really happened."

"Why, of course it is true, child! It is history, the story of how the
brave Spaniards came into this country long ago. We will read a great
deal more about them later."

"No," with a decisive shake of her brown head; "not if it is like
this. It isn't true; I told padre Rosendo it wasn't."

"Well, what do you mean, child?" asked the uncomprehending priest.

"It is only a lot of bad thoughts printed in a book," she replied
slowly. "And it isn't true, because God is _everywhere_."

Clearly the man was encountering difficulties at the outset; and a
part, at least, of his well-ordered curriculum stood in grave danger
of repudiation at the hands of this earnest little maid.

The girl stood looking at him wistfully. Then her sober little face
melted in smiles. With childish impulsiveness she clambered into his
lap, and twining her arms about his neck, impressed a kiss upon his
cheek.

"I love you, Padre," she murmured; "and you love me, don't you?"

He pressed her to him, startled though he was. "God knows I do, l