“Yes, chiquita.”
“Why did he say so, Padre?”
“Because he really believed it, carita.”
“But what is it, Padre––and how can it cure sick people?”
“It is the bark of a certain tree, little one, that people take as medicine. It is a sort of poison which people take to counteract another poison. A great school of medicine is founded upon that principle, Carmen,” he added. And then he fell to wondering if it really was a principle, after all. If so, it was evil overcoming evil. But would the world believe that both he and Rosendo had been cured by––what? Faith? True prayer? By the operation of a great, almost unknown principle? Or would it scoff at such an idea?
But what cared he for that? He saw himself and Rosendo restored, and that was enough. He turned to the child. “They think the quinine cures fever, little one,” he resumed.
“And does it?” The little face wore an anxious look as she put the question.
“They think it does, chiquita,” replied the priest, wondering what he should say.
“But it is just because they think so that they get well, isn’t it?” the girl continued.
“I guess it is, child.”