And down the ladder he bore him, step by step, through the crackling flames.
Jasper was revived; and the fainting Cristobal was borne through the streets in the arms of the populace.
“Wonder of wonders!” they all shouted.
“It was the Little Jesus,” gasped Cristobal: “he opened my eyes; he guided me up the ladder, and down again!”
“Hallelujah!” was now the cry. “On the birthday of our Lord, the blind receive their sight.”
“It is a triumph of faith,” said the saints reverently.
“A miracle,” murmured the nuns, making the sign of the cross.
“Not a miracle,” replied the wise doctors, after they had first consulted their books: “it is only the electrifying of the optic nerve.”
But hardly any two could agree, and what was so mysterious at the time is no clearer now.
“Dear little Cristobal,” sobbed the broken-hearted Jasper, “how could you forgive such a wicked boy as I?”