possibly save these people? What the missionary said may be
true."

"No, my faithful ally," replied Jose. "You did not get the sense in
which he said it. Neither human fat nor medicine of any kind will help
these people. Nothing will be accomplished for them until their fear
has been removed. For, I--well, the symptoms manifested by poor Feliz
may have been those of Asiatic cholera. But--I begin to doubt. And as
for Sanchez--_Bien_, we do not know--not for certain." He stopped and
pondered the question.

"Padre," pursued Rosendo, "I have used the liver of a lizard for
toothache, and it was very good."

"I have no doubt of it, Rosendo," replied Jose, with a smile. "And in
days past stranger remedies than that were used by supposedly wise
people. When the eyesight was poor, they rubbed wax from the human ear
upon the eyes, and I doubt not marvelous restorations of sight were
made. So also dogs' teeth were ground into powder and taken to
alleviate certain bodily pains. Almost everything that could be
swallowed has been taken by mankind to cure their aches and torments.
But they still ache to-day; and will continue to do so, I believe,
until their present state of mind greatly changes."

When the simple midday meal of corn _arepa_ and black coffee was
finished, Jose descended into the quiet town. "It is absurd that we
should be kept on the hill," he had said to Rosendo, "but these dull,
simple minds believe that, having handled those dead of the plague, we
have become agents of infection. They forget that they themselves are
living either in the same house with it, or closely adjacent. But it
humors them, poor children, and we will stay here for their sakes."

"_Caramba!_ and they have made us their sextons!" muttered Rosendo.

Jose shuddered. The clammy hand of fear again reached for his heart.
He turned to Carmen, who was busily occupied in the shade of the old
church.

"Your lessons, _chiquita_?" he queried, going to her for a moment's
abstraction.

"No, Padre dear," she replied, smiling up at him, while she quickly
concealed the bit of paper on which she had been writing.

"Then what are you doing, little one?" he insisted.

"Padre dear--don't--don't always make me tell you everything," she
pleaded, but only half in earnest, as she cast an enigmatical glance
at him.

"But this time I insist on knowing; so you might as well tell me."

"Well then, if you must know," she replied, her face beaming with a
ha