Several times before Rosendo went back to Guamocó Josè had sought to draw him into conversation about his illness, and to get his view of the probable cause of his rapid recovery. But the old man seemed loath to dwell on the topic, and Josè could get little from him. At any mention of the episode a troubled look would come over his face, and he would fall silent, or would find an excuse to leave the presence of the priest. "Rosendo," Josè abruptly remarked to him as he was busy with his pack late the night before his departure, "will you take with you the quinine that Juan brought?" Rosendo looked up quickly. "I can not, Padre." "And why?" "On account of Carmen." "But what has she to do with it, _amigo_?" Josè asked in surprise. Rosendo looked embarrassed. "I--_Bien_, Padre, I promised her I would not." "When?" "To-day, Padre." Josè reflected on the child's unusual request. Then: "But if you fell sick up in Guamocó, Rosendo, what could you do?" "_Quien sabe_, Padre! Perhaps I could gather herbs and make a tea--I don't know. She didn't say anything about that." He looked at Josè and laughed. Then, in an anxious tone: "Padre, what can I do? The little Carmen asks me not to take the quinine, and I can not refuse her. But I may get sick. I--I have always taken medicine when I needed it and could get it. But the only medicine we have in Simití is the stuff that some of the women make--teas and drinks brewed from roots and bark. I have never seen a doctor here, nor any real medicines but quinine. And even that is hard to get, as you know. I used to make a salve out of the livers of _mápina_ snakes--it was for the rheumatism--I suffered terribly when I worked in the cold waters in Guamocó. I think the salve helped me. But if I should get the disease now, would Carmen let me make the salve again?" He bent over his outfit for some moments. "She says if I trust God I will not get sick," he at length resumed. "She says I must not think about it. _Caramba!_ What has that to do with it? People get sick whether they think about it or not. Do you believe, Padre, this new _escapulario_ will protect me?" The man's words reflected the strange mixture of mature and childish thought typical of these untutored jungle folk, in which longing for the good is so heavily overshadowed by an educated belief in the power of evil. "Rosendo," said Josè, finding at last his opportunity, "tell me, do you think you were seriously ill day before yesterday?" "_Quien sabe_, Padre! Perhaps it was only the _terciana_, after all." "Well, then," pursuing another tack, "do you think I was very sick that day when I rushed to the lake--?" "_Caramba_, Padre! But you were turning cold--you hardly breathed--we all thought you must die--all but Carmen!" "And what cured me, Rosendo?" the priest asked in a low, steady voice. "Why--Padre, I can not say."