“We call her ‘the smile of God,’” said Rosendo, noting the priest’s absorption, “because she is always happy.”
Josè remained sunk in thought. Then––
“A beautiful child!” he murmured. “A wonderfully beautiful child! I had no idea––!”
“Yes, Padre, she is heaven’s gift to us poor folk. I sometimes think the angels themselves left her on the river bank.”
“On the river bank!” Josè was awake now. “Why––she was not born here?”
“Oh, no, Padre, but in Badillo.”
“Ah, then you once lived in Badillo?”
“Na, Señor Padre, she is not my child––except that the good God has given her to me to protect.”
“Not your child! Then whose is she?” The priest’s voice was unwontedly eager and his manner animated.
But Rosendo fell suddenly quiet and embarrassed, as if he realized that already he had said too much to a stranger. A shade of suspicion seemed to cross his face, and he rose hurriedly and went out into the kitchen. A moment later he returned with the priest’s breakfast––two fried eggs, a hot corn arepa, fried platanos, dried fish, and coffee sweetened with panela.