Our Boys | Page 7

who
was trembling in all her little bones, and carried her into the chapel,
where the Monks were just assembling to sing another carol. He went
right up to the Christmas abbot, who was seated in a splendid chair, and
looked like a king.
"Most holy abbot," said the nearsighted father, holding out Peter's little
sister, "behold a miracle, vide miraculum! Thou wilt remember that
there was one wax doll planted which did not come up. Behold, in her
place I have found this doll on crutches, which is--alive!"
"Let me see her!" said the abbot; and all the other Monks crowded
around, opening their mouths just like the little boys around the notice,
in order to see better.
"Verum est," said the abbot. "It is verily a miracle."
"Rather a lame miracle," said the brother who had charge of the funny
picture-books and the toy monkeys; they rather threw his mind off its
level of sobriety, and he was apt to make frivolous speeches
unbecoming a monk.
The abbot gave him a reproving glance, and the brother, who was the
leach of the convent, came forward. "Let me look at the miracle, most
holy abbot," said he. He took up Peter's sister, and looked carefully at
the small, twisted ankle. "I think I can cure this with my herbs and
simples," said he.
"But I don't know," said the abbot doubtfully. "I never heard of curing a
miracle."

"If it is not lawful, my humble power will not suffice to cure it," said
the father who was the leach.
"True," said the abbot; "take her, then, and exercise thy healing art
upon her, and we will go on with our Christmas devotions, for which
we should now feel all the more zeal."
So the father took away Peter's little sister, who was still too frightened
to speak.
The Christmas Monk was a wonderful doctor, for by Christmas eve the
little girl was completely cured of her lameness. This may seem
incredible, but it was owing in great part to the herbs and simples,
which are of a species that our doctors have no knowledge of; and also
to a wonderful lotion which has never been advertised on our fences.
Peter of course heard the talk about the miracle, and knew at once what
it meant. He was almost heartbroken to think he was deceiving the
Monks so, but at the same time he did not dare to confess the truth for
fear they would put a penance upon his sister, and he could not bear to
think of her having to kneel upon dried peas.
[Illustration: The Prince Runs Away.]
He worked hard picking Christmas presents, and hid his unhappiness as
best he could. On Christmas eve he was called into the chapel. The
Christmas Monks were all assembled there. The walls were covered
with green garlands and boughs and sprays of holly berries, and
branches of wax lights Were gleaming brightly amongst them. The
altar and the picture of the Blessed Child behind it were so bright as to
almost dazzle one; and right up in the midst of it, in a lovely white
dress, all wreaths and jewels, in a little chair with a canopy woven of
green branches over it, sat Peter's little sister.
And there were all the Christmas Monks in their white robes and
wreaths, going up in a long procession, with their hands full of the very
showiest Christmas presents to offer them to her!

But when they reached her and held out the lovely presents--the first
was an enchanting wax doll, the biggest beauty in the whole
garden--instead of reaching out her hands for them, she just drew back,
and said in her little sweet, piping voice: "Please, I ain't a millacle, I'm
only Peter's little sister."
"Peter?" said the abbot; "the Peter who works in our garden?"
"Yes," said the little sister.
Now here was a fine opportunity for a whole convent full of monks to
look foolish--filing up in procession with their hands full of gifts to
offer to a miracle, and finding there was no miracle, but only Peter's
little sister.
But the abbot of the Christmas Monks had always maintained that there
were two ways of looking at all things; if any object was not what you
wanted it to be in one light, that there was another light in which it
would be sure to meet your views.
So now he brought this philosophy to bear.
"This little girl did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is
not a miracle in that light," said he; "but look at her in another light and
she is a miracle--do you not see?"
They all looked at her, the darling little girl, the very meaning and