And yet, even as he thought, he drew from his gown a little shoe, and laid it beside his breviary.

It was Francisco's baby slipper, a duplicate to those worn by the miniature waxen figure of the Holy Virgin herself in her niche in the transept.
Had he felt during these years any qualms of conscience at this concealment of the child's sex?
None.

For to him the babe was sexless, as most befitted one who was to live and die at the foot of the altar.
There was no attempt to deceive God; what mattered else?
Nor was he withholding the child from the ministrations of the sacred sisters.
There was no convent near the Mission, and as each year passed, the difficulty of restoring her to the position and duties of her sex became greater and more dangerous.

And then the acolyte's destiny was sealed by what again appeared to Father Pedro as a direct interposition of Providence.

The child developed a voice of such exquisite sweetness and purity that an angel seemed to have strayed into the little choir, and kneeling worshipers below, transported, gazed upwards, half expectant of a heavenly light breaking through the gloom of the raftered ceiling.