sight—not that inner vision that sees further than the eyes."
"No, not that—I know what you mean," he answered. Then, tossing his hand towards the sky, he added, "The knowledge you speak of comes from there."
The girl had been listening with keen interest, glancing from one to the other. "What!" she spoke suddenly, as if unable to keep silence, "do you think, grandfather, that she tells me—when there is danger—when the rain will cease—when the wind will blow—everything? Do I not ask and listen, lying awake at night? She is always silent, like the stars."
Then, pointing to me with her finger, she finished—
"He knows so many things! Who tells them to him?"
"But distinguish, Rima. You do not distinguish the great from the little," he answered loftily. "We know a thousand things, but they are things that any man with a forehead can learn. The knowledge that comes from the blue is not like that—it is more important and miraculous. Is it not so, señor?" he ended, appealing to me.
"Is it, then, left for me to decide?" said I, addressing the girl.
But though her face was towards me she refused to meet my look and was silent. Silent, but not satisfied: she doubted still, and had perhaps caught something in my tone that strengthened her doubt.
Old Nuflo understood the expression. "Look at me,
