“I? No, Padre,” said the old man firmly, but in a voice heavy with sadness. “Maria and I remain in Simití. My work is done when I have seen the girl safely out of this unhappy country. I could not live in the States. And my days are few now, anyway. Let me end them here. How, I care not.”
Carmen came bounding in and flew into Rosendo’s arms. “Padre Rosendo!” she cried, aglow with animation, “we are all going to the States up north! I am going to take them 348 my message! And I am going to school there! Oh, padre, isn’t it beautiful!”
“Ah, chiquita,” said Rosendo cheerily, straining her to him, “I guess we have decided to send you on ahead––a little ahead of us. Your old padre has some business he must attend to here before he leaves.” His eyes grew moist. Josè knew what his effort at cheerfulness was costing him.
“But, padre Rosendo, you will come––later? You promise? You must!” She looked into his eyes, pleading wistfully.
“Yes, little one, yes––of course. For where you are, there your old padre will always be––always––always!”
“And Padre Josè?” panted the girl under Rosendo’s tight grasp as she turned her head toward the priest.
“He goes with us,” assured Rosendo––“I think––at least as far as the coast. He will see Anita––and––” His voice broke, and he turned abruptly away.
“And she will go to the States with us! Oh, padre!” cried the girl, bounding up and down with joy.
Josè turned and went quickly into his own house. With grim determination he drew the battered haircloth trunk from beneath his bed and began to throw his few effects into it.
But he had scarce begun when Juan, now bearing the proud title of official courier between Simití and Bodega Central, entered with a letter. Josè recognized the writing, and tore it open at once. It was from his mother.