"See that point," he said. "Right there, just as Capriata swung his
vessel to head for the sea, the mare broke loose from her halter,
and in a bound reached the rail of the schooner and leaped into the
waves. Capriata could do nothing. The schooner was in peril, and he,
with his hand upon the wheel and his men at the sails, could only
utter an oath. He confesses he did that, and you will find no man
more convinced of the miracle than he."

The aged missionary paused, his eyes glowing. The _nonos_ that
settled in a swarm on his swollen, poisoned hands were nothing to
him in the rapture of that memory.

"This happened at night. Throughout the darkness the schooner stayed
outside the bay, returning only at daylight. Immediately after
anchoring, the captain hastened to inform me of the misfortune, and
found me saying mass. It was one of the few times he had ever been
in the sacred edifice."

Père Simeon smiled, and held up one finger to emphasize my attention.
"As soon as mass was finished, Capriata told me of what had happened,
and his certainty that the mare was drowned. I fell on my knees and
said a despairing prayer to Joan. That instant we heard a neigh
outside, and rushing out of the church, we saw, cropping the grass
in the mission enclosure, the white mare that was destined to bear
the figure of Joan in the celebration of her fete."

I could not restrain an exclamation of amazement. "_Vraiment?_"

"_Absolument_," answered Père Simeon. "Unbelievers might explain that
waves swept the mare ashore, and that through some instinct she