, a precaution necessary in a drowsing town of this nature, where
the simple folk who see day after day pass without concern or event to
break the deadening monotony, assemble in eager, buzzing multitudes at
the slightest prospect of extraordinary interest.

The room was dimly lighted, and was open to the peak of the roof. From
the rough-hewn rafters above hung hundreds of hideous bats. At the far
end stood the altar. It was adorned with decrepit images, and held a
large wooden statue of the Virgin. This latter object was veiled with
two flimsy curtains, which were designed to be raised and lowered with
great pomp and the ringing of a little bell during service. The image
was attired in real clothes, covered with tawdry finery, gilt paper,
and faded ribbons. The head bore a wig of hair; and the face was
painted, although great sections of the paint had fallen, away,
leaving the suggestion of pockmarks. Beneath this image was located
the _sagrario_, the little cupboard in which the _hostia_, the sacred
wafer, was wont to be kept exposed in the _custodia_, a cheap
receptacle composed of two watch crystals. At either side of this
stood half consumed wax tapers. A few rough benches were strewn about
the floor; and dust and green mold lay thick over all.

At the far right-hand corner of the building a lean-to had been
erected to serve as the _sacristia_, or vestry. In the worm-eaten
wardrobe within hung a few vestments, adorned with cheap finery, and
heavily laden with dust, over which scampered vermin of many
varieties. An air of desolation and abandon hung over the whole
church, and to Jose seemed to symbolize the decay of a sterile faith.

Rosendo carefully dusted off a bench near one of the windows and bade
Jose be seated.

"_Padre_," he began, after some moments of deep reflection, "the
little Carmen is not an ordinary child."

"I have seen that, Rosendo," interposed Jose.

"We--we do not understand her," Rosendo went on, carefully weighing
his words; "and we sometimes think she is not--not altogether like
us--that her coming was a miracle. But you do not believe in
miracles," he added quizzically.

"Why do you say that, Rosendo?" Jose returned in surprise.

Rosendo paused before replying.

"You were very sick, Padre; and in the fever you--" the impeccably
honest fellow hesitated.

"Yes, I thought so," said Jose with an air of weary resignation. "And
what else did I say, Rosendo?"

The faultless courtesy o