"Oh, Padre dear!" she pleaded, passing her little hand tenderly over his cheek. Then her face brightened. "I know what it is!" she exclaimed. "You are just trying to think that two and two are seven--and you can't prove it--and so you'd better stop trying!" She broke into a little forced laugh. Josè sat wrapped in black silence. "Padre dear." Her voice was full of plaintive tenderness. "You have talked so much about that good man Jesus. What would he say if he saw you trying to make two and two equal seven? And if he had been here last night--would he have let Feliz die?" The priest made no answer. None was required when Carmen put her questions. "Padre dear," she continued softly. "Why didn't _you_ cure Feliz?" His soul withered under the shock. "You have told me, often, that Jesus cured sick people. And you said he even made the dead ones live again--didn't you, Padre dear?" "Yes," he murmured; "they say he did." "And you read to me once from your Bible where he told the people that he gave them power over everything. And you said he was the great rule--you called him the Christ-principle--and you said he never went away from us. Well, Padre dear," she concluded with quick emphasis, "why don't you use him now?" She waited a moment. Then, when no reply came-- "Feliz didn't die, Padre." "_Hombre!_ It's all the same--he's gone!" he cried in a tone of sullen bitterness. "You think he is gone, Padre dear. And Feliz thought he had to go. And so now you both see it that way--that's all. If you would see things the way that good man Jesus told you to--well, wouldn't they be different--wouldn't they, Padre dear?" "No doubt they would, child, no doubt. But--" She waited a moment for him to express the limitation which the conjunctive implied. Then: "Padre dear, how do you think he did it? How did he cure sick people, and make the dead ones live again?" "I--I don't know, child--I am not sure. That knowledge has been lost, long since." "You _do_ know, Padre," she insisted; "you _do_! Did he know that God was everywhere?" "Yes." "And what did he say sickness was?" "He classed it with all evil under the one heading--a lie--a lie about God." "But when a person tells a lie, he doesn't speak the truth, does he?" "No." "And a lie has no rule, no principle?" "No." "And so it isn't anything--doesn't come from anything true--hasn't any real life, has it?" "No, a lie is utterly unreal, not founded on anything but supposition, either ignorant or malicious." "Then Jesus said sickness was a supposition, didn't he?" "Yes." "And God, who made everything real, didn't make suppositions. He made only real things." "True, child." "Well, Padre dear, if you _know_ all that, why don't you act as if you did?" Act? Yes, act your knowledge! Acknowledge Him in all your ways! Then He shall bring it to pass! What? That which is real--life, not death--immortality, not oblivion--love, not hate--good, not evil!