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,"