"Some of you visited my own village and healed many who had evil spirits," said the father hopefully. He could not understand why the men hesitated. They still made no move toward the boy. Andrew came out of the inn. "Can you heal my son?" the man asked Andrew. Andrew glanced at the others. He knew why they hung back. He looked at the boy. The father's voice was urgent. The people watched intently as Andrew stepped up to the boy, lying limp but conscious. "Be gone from him!" commanded Andrew, as though speaking to an evil spirit in the boy. A shiver ran through his body, but then he lay still again. Scornful smiles curled the lips of the people who watched. A great healer, this man! He tells the devil to leave and the boy is worse off than before! Andrew flamed scarlet--but he was not thinking of the bystanders. In his heart he knew he was powerless to help the boy. The father bent over his son and then suddenly stood up. "You cannot help him! You have no power!" Andrew was stunned. For a moment he stood stock-still. Then he turned and walked away. "A fine proof of the power of the Nazarene!" remarked a man sarcastically. The people recognized him as a priest who had stopped a few minutes before to watch. The father of the boy looked around at the people, desperately seeking someone else to help him. "Where is your Master?" cried the father desperately. "Yes, where is your Master?" echoed the priest in derision. "You had better go and find him!" "He left a couple hours ago with three others," said the innkeeper, in a very matter-of-fact way. "He went up there." He waved toward the great mountain. The people looked where he pointed. "There he is!" cried a man in the crowd. Distant figures were moving down the mountainside. "Now we shall see if this Nazarene can do better than his followers," remarked the priest bitingly. As Jesus approached, he took in the whole scene at a glance: the sick boy, the despairing father, the sneering official, and the beaten disciples. "O sir, my son has a terrible sickness!" said the father. "He even falls into the fire and hurts himself." He gave a pitiable little gesture toward his son, stretched on the bench. "Your disciples could not help him at all!" Jesus turned to his disciples. They looked at him dully. Andrew stood a distance away; his face clearly showed his humiliation. Jesus' voice had in it more of weariness and sorrow than sharpness. "How utterly faithless you are! You turn your backs on God himself! How long must I teach you? How much longer must I endure your cold hearts?" He turned to the man. "How long has your son been like this?" "From the time he was a little child," replied the father. "If you can do anything at all, help us! Do have pity on us!" "Why do you say, 'If you can'? Do you not believe that I can heal this boy? Anything can be done for one who has real faith!" The disciples knew that Jesus might as well have been speaking to them.