“Writing a question to God! Well––!”
“Why, yes, Padre dear. I have done that for a long, long time. When I want to know what to do, and think I don’t see just what is best, I write my question to God on a piece of paper. Then I read it to Him, and tell Him I know He knows the answer and that He will tell me. And then I put the paper under a stone some place, and––well, that’s all, Padre. Isn’t it a good way?” She beamed at him like a glorious noonday sun.
The priest stood before her in wonder and admiration. “And does He tell you the answers to your questions, chiquita?” he asked tenderly.
“Always, Padre dear. Not always right away––but He never fails––never!”
“Will you tell me what you are asking Him now?” he said.
She handed him the paper. His eyes dimmed as he read:
“Dear, dear Father, please tell your little girl and her dear Padre Josè what it is that makes the people think they have to die down in the town.”
“And where will you put the paper, little girl?” he asked, striving to control his voice.
“Why, I don’t know, Padre. Oh, why not put it under the altar in this old church?” she exclaimed, pleased with the thought of such a novel hiding place.
“Excellent!” assented Josè; and together they entered the building. After much stumbling over rubbish, much soiling of hands and disturbing of bats and lizards, while Carmen’s happy laugh rang merrily through the gloomy old pile, they laid the paper carefully away behind the altar in a little pocket, and covered it with an adobe brick.