“But how do you suppose he knows when it is just six o’clock, chiquita?” asked Josè, 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.”
Josè 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?”