“I have been watching you,” the superintendent told him.  “You’re built to boss men.  What kind of a bump was it that ever slammed you down like this?”

The answer the superintendent got was a smile which put further questions out of his mind.

“No, her cheeks are not so hot,” affirmed Farr when he laid her in her bed that night.  “She will come along all right.”

But at the end of a week languor still weighed on the child.  There were circles under her eyes and her cheeks were wan, and she did not clap her hands with the old-time glee when he brought her new toys; the playthings lay beside her on the bed and invited her touch—­staring eyes of dolls, beady eyes of toy dogs—­without avail.

“It is the queer way of being sick,” lamented the old man.  “The doctor mebbe not know, because he very gruff and do not say.  I think I know what may cure her—­it has been done many time.

“Away up in the Canada country there is the shrine of the good Sainte Anne de Beaupre.  There she stand in the middle of the big church and she hold her little grandson in her arm—­the little boy Jesus.  So she feel very tender toward poor, sick childs.  Ah, I have seen her many time—­I have seen childs healed there and made so very smart—­all cure.  She loves little childs. Oui.  All about her feet are short, small crutch where she has cure childs.  The piece of her wrist-bone is there in the sacristy—­it look like a wee scrap of some gray moss under the glass.  And it cure when the good priest say the word for her.  I know the way to the shrine of La Bonne Sainte Anne—­I will go with the little Rosemarie and she shall sing and dance after that.”

For a moment the cynical smile of the skeptic etched itself at the corners of Farr’s mouth—­the flash of the nature the young man had hidden during recent weeks.

He turned to Zelie Dionne and found her regarding him with grave eyes.

“It is as M’sieu’ Etienne says,” she assured the young man.  “La Bonne Sainte listens very tenderly when the children come to her.  She is good to all, but her spirit leans over the poor little children and comforts them.”

“You have been there?”

“Many times, sir.  It is not only the sick body that the good Sainte Anne heals—­she comforts anybody who is in much sorrow—­she tells the right way to go.  There are many roads to take in this life—­and if any one goes to her with prayer and humble soul she will guide.  Ah, it is true, sir.”

There was earnestness in her features and conviction in her tones and it was plain that Zelie Dionne was speaking out of the depths of her heart, and Farr remembered what old Etienne had said about the son of Farmer Leroux.

“Yes, she will lead to the right way and make all well in the end,” asserted the girl.  “And, most of all, she is kind and gentle to the little children.”

Between her and the wistful old man Farr divided tolerant and kindly gaze.