But most of all they loved to lie up in the airy wooden belfry; the great gaping bell hanging darkly above them, the mouldering cross-beams glimmering far up under the dim shadows of the roof, where dwelt a great brown owl that, unfrightened at their familiar presence, stared down at them with his round, solemn eyes. Below them stretched the white walls of the garden, beyond them the vineyard, and beyond that again the far shining river, that seemed to Otto’s mind to lead into wonder-land. There the two would lie upon the belfry floor by the hour, talking together of the strangest things.
“I saw the dear Angel Gabriel again yester morn,” said Brother John.
“So!” says Otto, seriously; “and where was that?”
“It was out in the garden, in the old apple-tree,” said Brother John. “I was walking there, and my wits were running around in the grass like a mouse. What heard I but a wonderful sound of singing, and it was like the hum of a great bee, only sweeter than honey. So I looked up into the tree, and there I saw two sparks. I thought at first that they were two stars that had fallen out of heaven; but what think you they were, little child?”
“I do not know,” said Otto, breathlessly.
“They were angel’s eyes,” said Brother John; and he smiled in the strangest way, as he gazed up into the blue sky. “So I looked at the two sparks and felt happy, as one does in spring time when the cold weather is gone, and the warm sun shines, and the cuckoo sings again. Then, by-and-by, I saw the face to which the eyes belonged. First, it shone white and thin like the moon in the daylight; but it grew brighter and brighter, until it hurt one’s eyes to look at it, as though it had been the blessed sun itself. Angel Gabriel’s hand was as white as silver, and in it he held a green bough with blossoms, like those that grow on the thorn bush. As for his robe, it was all of one piece, and finer than the Father Abbot’s linen, and shone beside like the sunlight on pure snow. So I knew from all these things that it was the blessed Angel Gabriel.”
“‘What do they say about this tree, Brother John?’ said he to me.
“‘They say it is dying, my Lord Angel,’ said I, ‘and that the gardener will bring a sharp axe and cut it down.’
“‘And what dost thou say about it, Brother John?’ said he.
“‘I also say yes, and that it is dying,’ said I.