“Of course, Padre. We have just got to love everything. Don’t you know that?”
“Y––yes––that is so, chiquita. I––I just thought I would ask you. Now let us begin the arithmetic lesson.”
The child loved the hideous saurian! And “perfect love casteth out fear.” What turned the monster from the girl and drove it into the lake? Love, again, before which evil falls in sheer impotence? Had she worked a miracle? Certainly not! Had God interposed in her behalf? Again, no. “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” And would divine Love always protect her? There could be no question about it, as long as she knew no evil.
The morning hours sped past. From arithmetic, they turned to the English lesson. Next to perfection in her own Castilian, Josè felt that this language was most important for her. And she delighted in it, although her odd little pronunciations, and her vain attempts to manipulate words to conform to her own ideas of enunciation brought many a hearty laugh, in which she joined with enthusiasm. The afternoon, as was his plan for future work, was devoted to narratives of men and events, and to descriptions of places. It was a ceaseless wonder to Josè how her mind absorbed his instruction.
“How readily you see these things, Carmen,” he said, as he concluded the work for the day.
“See them, Padre? But not with my outside eyes.”
The remark seemed to start a train of thought within her mentality. “Padre,” she at length asked, “how do we see with our eyes?”
“It is very simple, chiquita,” Josè replied. “Here, let me draw a picture of an eye.”
He quickly sketched a rough outline of the human organ of sight. “Now,” he began, “you know you cannot see in the dark, don’t you?”
“Yes, Padre?”