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 Simití, 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 Simití 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 what always happens to people who think about themselves all the time––they get buried.”
Josè was glad of the silence that fell upon them. Wrapped so long in his own egoism, he had now no worldly wisdom with which to match this girl’s sapient words. He waited. He felt that Carmen was but the channel through which a great Voice was speaking.
“Padre,” the tones were tender and soft, “you don’t always think of good things, do you?”
“I? Why, no, little girl. I guess I haven’t done so. That is, not always. But––”
“Because if you had you wouldn’t have been driven into the lake that day. And you wouldn’t be here now in Simití.”
“But, child, even a Cura cannot always think of good things, when he sees so much wickedness in the world!”
“But, Padre, God is good, isn’t He?”