ld drove the heart-searching question straight
into him.

"Why--no, I can't say that He does. And yet they somehow get sick."

"Because they think bad things, Padre. Because they don't think about
God. They don't think He is here. And they don't care about Him--they
don't love Him. And so they get sick," she explained succinctly.

Jose's mind reverted to what Rosendo had told him. When he lay tossing
in delirium Carmen had said that he would not die. And yet that was
perfectly logical, if she refused to admit the existence of evil.

"I thought lots about you last week, Padre."

The soft voice was close to his ear, and every breath swept over his
heartstrings and made them vibrate.

"Every night when I went to sleep I told God I _knew_ He would cure
you."

The priest's head sank upon his breast.

Verily, I have not seen such faith, no, not in Israel! And the faith
of this child had glorified her vision until she saw "the heavens open
and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man."

"Carmen"--the priest spoke reverently--"do the sick ones always get
well when you think about them?"

There was not a shade of euphemism in the unhesitating reply--

"They are never really sick, Padre."

"But, by that you mean--"

"They only have bad thoughts."

"Sick thoughts, then?" he suggested by way of drawing out her full
meaning.

"Yes, Padre--for God, you know, really _is_ everywhere."

"Carmen!" cried the man. "What put such ideas into your little head?
Who told you these things?"

Her brown eyes looked full into his own. "God, Padre dear."

God! Yes, of a verity she spoke truth. For nothing but her constant
communion with Him could have filled her pure thought with a deeper,
truer lore than man has ever quaffed at the world's great fountains of
learning. He himself, trained by Holy Church, deeply versed in
letters, science, and theology, grounded in all human learning, sat in
humility at her feet, drinking in what his heart told him he had at
length found--Truth.

He had one more question to ask. "Carmen, how do you know, how are you
sure, that He told you?"

"Because it is true, Padre."

"But just how do you know that it is true?" he insisted.

"Why--it comes out that way; just like the answers to the problems in
arithmetic. I used to try to see if by thinking only good thoughts
to-day I would be better and happier to-morrow."

"Yes, and--?"

"Well, I always was, Padre. And so now