witless life upon a sort of sufferance, as though he were a
tame, harmless animal.

While Otto was still a little baby, he had been given into
Brother John's care. Thereafter, and until Otto had grown old
enough to care for himself, poor Brother John never left his
little charge, night or day. Oftentimes the good Father Abbot,
coming into the garden, where he loved to walk alone in his
meditations, would find the poor, simple Brother sitting under
the shade of the pear-tree, close to the bee-hives, rocking the
little baby in his arms, singing strange, crazy songs to it, and
gazing far away into the blue, empty sky with his curious, pale
eyes.

Although, as Otto grew up into boyhood, his lessons and his
tasks separated him from Brother John, the bond between them
seemed to grow stronger rather than weaker. During the hours
that Otto had for his own they were scarcely ever apart. Down in
the vineyard, where the monks were gathering the grapes for the
vintage, in the garden, or in the fields, the two were always
seen together, either wandering hand in hand, or seated in some
shady nook or corner.

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,