id the good Angel,' and they can
never wither and die.'

"'Then I'll tell the gardener that he shall not cut the tree down,' said
I."

"'No, no,' said the dear Gabriel, 'that will never do, for if the tree
is not cut down here on the earth, it can never be planted in paradise.'"

Here Brother John stopped short in his story, and began singing one of
his crazy songs, as he gazed with his pale eyes far away into nothing at
all.

"But tell me, Brother John," said little Otto, in a hushed voice, "what
else did the good Angel say to thee?"

Brother John stopped short in his song and began looking from right to
left, and up and down, as though to gather his wits.

"So!" said he, "there was something else that he told me. Tschk! If I
could but think now. Yes, good! This is it--'Nothing that has lived,'
said he, 'shall ever die, and nothing that has died shall ever live.'"

Otto drew a deep breath. "I would that I might see the beautiful Angel
Gabriel sometime," said he; but Brother John was singing again and did
not seem to hear what he said.

Next to Brother John, the nearest one to the little child was the good
Abbot Otto, for though he had never seen wonderful things with the eyes
of his soul, such as Brother John's had beheld, and so could not tell of
them, he was yet able to give little Otto another pleasure that no one
else could give.

He was a great lover of books, the old Abbot, and had under lock and key
wonderful and beautiful volumes, bound in hog-skin and metal, and with
covers inlaid with carved ivory, or studded with precious stones. But
within these covers, beautiful as they were, lay the real wonder of the
books, like the soul in the body; for there, beside the black letters
and initials, gay with red and blue and gold, were beautiful pictures
painted upon the creamy parchment. Saints and Angels, the Blessed Virgin
with the golden oriole about her head, good St. Joseph, the three Kings;
the simple Shepherds kneeling in the fields, while Angels with glories
about their brow called to the poor Peasants from the blue sky above.
But, most beautiful of all was the picture of the Christ Child lying in
the manger, with the mild-eyed Kine gazing at him.

Sometimes the old Abbot would unlock the iron-bound chest where these
treasures lay hidden, and carefully and lovingly brushing the few grains
of dust from them, would lay them upon the table beside the oriel window
in front of his little namesake, allowin