There was not a shade of euphemism in the unhesitating reply-- "They are never really sick, Padre." "But, by that you mean--" "They only have bad thoughts." "Sick thoughts, then?" he suggested by way of drawing out her full meaning. "Yes, Padre--for God, you know, really _is_ everywhere." "Carmen!" cried the man. "What put such ideas into your little head? Who told you these things?" Her brown eyes looked full into his own. "God, Padre dear." God! Yes, of a verity she spoke truth. For nothing but her constant communion with Him could have filled her pure thought with a deeper, truer lore than man has ever quaffed at the world's great fountains of learning. He himself, trained by Holy Church, deeply versed in letters, science, and theology, grounded in all human learning, sat in humility at her feet, drinking in what his heart told him he had at length found--Truth. He had one more question to ask. "Carmen, how do you know, how are you sure, that He told you?" "Because it is true, Padre." "But just how do you know that it is true?" he insisted. "Why--it comes out that way; just like the answers to the problems in arithmetic. I used to try to see if by thinking only good thoughts to-day I would be better and happier to-morrow." "Yes, and--?" "Well, I always was, Padre. And so now I don't think anything but good thoughts." "That is, you think only about God?" "I always think about Him _first_, Padre." He had no further need to question her proofs, for he knew she was taught by the Master himself. "That will be all for this morning, Carmen," he said quietly, as he put her down. "Leave me now. I, too, have some thinking to do."