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."

"At that he smiled until his face shone so bright that I had to
shut my eyes."

"'Now I begin to believe, Brother John, that thou art as foolish
as men say,' said he. 'Look, till I show thee.' And thereat I
opened mine eyes again."

"Then Angel Gabriel touched the dead branches with the flowery
twig that he held in his hand, and there was the dead wood all
covered with green leaves, and fair blossoms and beautiful
apples as yellow as gold. Each smelling more sweetly than a
garden of flowers, and better to the taste than white bread and
honey.

"'They are souls of the apples,' said the good Angel,' and they
can never wither and die.'