CHAPTER VII

STILL MORE MUSIC

A great song rehearsal now took place every day on the pasture. Vinzi had formed a chorus of all the boys having good voices. Some, of course, could not sing, while others did not care to do it; also some of the cow-herds had to remain with the cattle. The rehearsals took up a lot of time because Vinzi demanded the little bit he taught them every day should be perfectly sung. He could not bear false notes and whenever he heard one he cried out as if a wasp had stung him. He then made them repeat the whole passage again. Vinzi had long known that Jos and Vereli had the best and truest voices and so he chose Jos as leader for the high voices and Vereli for the alto voices. Besides doing splendid work in singing, the two boys proved most helpful in keeping the other singers in order. When any of the boys knew anything by heart, they wished to sing right out as soon as Vinzi began to play. But Jos and Vereli realized that this would not do, so they had to restrain the eager singers till their time came.

The following Sunday had been chosen by Vinzi for the performance. He would have gladly waited, if it had been necessary, but his chorus was perfectly trained. It was the most suitable day in the week, as most of the boys had their freedom that afternoon.

Jos and Vinzi wandered up the mountain-side with their little troupe of singers. On their journey up, other boys from neighboring cottages joined them. Many even wanted to go along as listeners. In that way a considerable number had gathered together before they all approached the tower.

The grandfather was sitting, as usual, in the sunshine on his bench, and a cool mountain breeze was fanning his deeply-tinted cheeks. He looked questioningly at the approaching boys. Vinzi, Jos and Vereli, the leaders, came to within a few feet of the old man, and the others grouped themselves about in a semi-circle. Now Vinzi began to play. At first he seemed to begin a gay tune, but soon the instrument took up a sad and serious air. Finally the tones seemed to weep and sob as if some one were pleading for mercy.

At this point the chorus took up the following words, quietly giving a ray of hope:

“But the blessed song of mercy.”

The lamenting tones of the pipe vibrated anew till the chorus sang a second time, this time louder and in fuller tones:

“But the blessed song of mercy.”

Once more the pipe took up its pleading melody, but the chorus now took up the refrain with full strength and the words this time sounded like the veriest jubilation:

“But the blessed song of mercy Resounds through all eternity.”

The pipe joined in here with notes of triumph, and together with the voices all ended in a happy song of joy.

Everything was quiet as the grandfather sat motionless with his hands folded on his knees. One of the boys started to run away, then more followed, and soon all of them were hurrying towards the green meadow where the cows from the valley were grazing. Here they found their comrades who were in charge of the cattle. Vereli alone had remained beside Jos and Vinzi, but he also disappeared, because such quiet was not long to his taste.

When the grandfather raised his glance he seemed to return from some far-away place.

“You sang me a beautiful song,” he said kindly. “Where did you find it? I suppose you taught it to the others, Vinzi?”

“I got the idea from you,” replied Vinzi.

“Hm, hm,” said the grandfather, “you seem to comprehend pretty well what one says to you. But where did you find the music?”

“It came to me because I wanted to sing you the song you could not remember,” said Vinzi.

“It is very good of you to give an old man such pleasure. But wait! I nearly forgot something,” said the grandfather, searching about in his pockets. “I have thought of you, too, for I told Pater Silvanus about your wanting a certain kind of song. You can see how good he is, for look! he brought it to me. The only condition he made is that you are to sing him the song when you have found the tune for it. Oh, here it is at last.”

The grandfather now pulled out a long sheet of paper, which he gave to Vinzi. A song was written on it in firm large letters.

“I have to say something else, boys,” continued the grandfather. “Jos, you know where the cellar is. Bring me the cheese which has been cut, and one of the largest loaves of bread. Vinzi must go with you, because it is too heavy for you alone. Take it down to the boys who have sung for me today. You can have a little feast together, for you have made one for me, too. Take a cup out of the kitchen so you can take turns drinking. Xaver can milk for you the cows that give the best milk.”

The grandfather always called Vereli by his real name, for the boy’s father and grandfather had been called the same before him.

The two now ran away to do his bidding and found themselves puffing hard under their load while climbing the cellar-stairs. But they did so with radiant faces, for they happily looked forward to arriving at the pasture.

“Come again, boys,” said the grandfather, gratefully shaking their hands. “Make some other Sunday happy for me sometime with your beautiful singing.”

All the singers had remained on the huge pasture with the Tower Boys, and yells of delight greeted the laden couple. They settled down immediately to begin the feast. Their appetites proved astonishing, for many of the boys from the small cottages thereabout usually got only potatoes for their daily fare.

Vinzi had settled a little behind the close circle. He wished to be alone in order to read the words of his song. The melody was still haunting him, and he wondered if the words and music would harmonize. Pulling out the paper, he found that he could read the fine clear writing without trouble. He read it over and over again. Suddenly a terrific longing drew him up to the field of roses, a longing which he found impossible to resist. Getting up, he quietly slipped away from the busy feast-makers. Without stopping he ran up the slope into the midst of the marvellous rose field and settled down on his chosen spot, surrounded on every side by thick clumps of bloom. Here he could hear his song again and sing it to himself. He pulled out his sheet and read:

Behold there in the evening light The clouds like roses glowing! No thorns have these, their grace to spite, No briars mar the roses bright That in the clouds are glowing.

And in this light how full of glee Outfoams the sparkling brooklet! White as the snow its garment free. How pure it is, how fair to see The gaily foaming brooklet!

Majestic in the sunset’s ray The ancient peaks are standing. For though poor mortals go astray And like the grass must fade away, The mountains still are standing.

Within the golden gleaming sky Full many a grief is melted. Ye valley dwellers, come on high, Come all, for here, where heaven is nigh, Full many a grief is melted.

That evening Vinzi came tearing down the mountain-side so late that the whole family had been gathered together before the house looking for him on every side. Jos had returned several hours ago and had related to them the grandfather’s delight at the music, also how he had treated them to a feast and how Vinzi had suddenly disappeared, no one knew whither. They had all vainly guessed where he might be. One member of the family after another had gone outside to see if he was coming home, till finally all of them were on the lookout. He came running along at last.

“Vinzi, Vinzi,” the uncle called to him, “we almost thought you had run away.”

“Oh, I’ll never do that,” Vinzi assured him, panting hard. “I was sitting among the alpine-roses and entirely forgot the time.”

“I’d do just the opposite,” declared Faz. “If I had to sit up there away from everybody and with not even a cow to talk to, I’d have to think all the time, I wonder how late it is?”

“Perhaps you made some pipes?” Russli wanted to find out.

“No, Russli, I’ll make some more tomorrow,” Vinzi replied with understanding.

The father urged them to go into the house, for he longed for a little Sunday music, and first of all for supper, because the mother had refused to give them any till Vinzi should come back. They were all very hungry.

During the next few days Vinzi spent many a happy hour in his beloved rose field, which he could do with a clear conscience. Jos knew what was going on and he saw to it that Vinzi got the fine morning hours to himself. He therefore sent him up as soon as they reached the pasture, for he was dreadfully eager to learn a new song. After a few days Vinzi called his chorus together, and by this time they made such rapid progress that he had to wonder at them. All they had to do was to follow the melody the pipe was playing, which was most pleasing, besides being easy to remember. The chorus sang with great enthusiasm, for the words were easily understood and stayed in their memory without difficulty. They always hated to stop when the time came. Vinzi had only to accompany the song a few times with Jos and Vereli as leaders and all the boys on every pasture could sing it.

When they got together in the morning one would cry to the other: “Let’s sing our song,” for they fully felt that it was their very own.

When Sunday came, all the musicians proceeded up to the grandfather, who having already got wind of the affair, looked forward eagerly to their visit. The number was even larger than the first time, and the performers in their eagerness had barely reached his bench when they began their song. The volume of their voices increased till the end.

“Bravo, bravo!” exclaimed the grandfather delighted. “Once more! Once more!”

With undiminished enthusiasm the whole performance was repeated.

When Vinzi saw that the singers went on smoothly without him, he signalled to Jos and Vereli. Lightly as lizards the three slipped quickly away.

This had been planned beforehand, for Vinzi was eager to do what the grandfather had bidden him do; but as he was convinced that so much noise would be unseemly for the hospice, he had decided not to let the others know where he was going. If they had known, he probably could not have prevented the boys from running after them.

As soon as they had reached the road, the three boys were able to wander along a little more slowly, and they soon saw the large building of stone which Vinzi remembered so clearly. What a terrible impression it had made on him! How silently it lay there, and how frightened he had been when he had thought it might be his uncle’s home! How different it looked now as it lay peacefully in the sunshine, and seemed even to beckon to the boys! Vinzi knew now that here lived the good monks who helped half-frozen travellers in winter as they struggled up the mountain in bad weather. When they stood before the door, Vereli pulled the bell-rope so mightily that they could hear it re-echo inside. Soon after a very small old man opened the heavy door a trifle.

“That’s the porter,” said Vereli.

“What do you want?” asked the old man.

“We want to see Pater Silvanus,” quickly replied Vereli.

The old man, after examining the three suspiciously, said finally in a measured tone: “Well, boys, Pater Silvanus can’t be brought out for a joke. He has usually very different customers from you. What do you want from him?”

“We had better go if Pater Silvanus has no time for us,” said Vinzi timidly.

But Vereli could not be disposed of so easily. “We have a message for him from grandfather,” he said unruffled. “Grandfather told us to give it to Pater Silvanus himself.”

At this the old man opened the door a little wider and let the three boys enter. “You can wait here,” he said curtly, leaving them and going down a dim, long corridor, where they could still hear his dragging footsteps after they could not see him any more.

After a while a firm and rapid step came towards them.

“Here he comes,” said Vereli, unabashed, when the monk with a long garment stood before them and examined them with penetrating glances.

“You are one of the boys from the tower, you carry their stamp about you,” he said, turning to Vereli. “And who are your companions?”

“He belongs to Lorenz Lesa, near the chapel, and he is his cousin, Vinzi Lesa, from Leuk,” explained Vereli.

A curious smile flitted over the monk’s features at the mention of the last name. Looking at Vinzi once more, he said pleasantly, “Come with me.”

Then he led them through the long, echoing corridor, and after opening a door in the rear, bade them enter. It was a very large room with dark panelled walls, against which ancient leather chairs with high backs were ranged. In the middle of it stood a huge square table, but Vinzi could not take his eyes from an object he had noticed in a corner. It looked slightly like a high cupboard and somewhat resembled Alida’s piano, but was a trifle higher. Standing in front of the trio, the monk asked the grandfather’s wishes.

Vinzi felt that it was for him to speak. He expressed himself as willing to sing the song which the kind Father had sent him through the grandfather.

“Good, I’ll be glad to hear it,” said the monk. Upon noticing that Vinzi still hesitated, he added: “What else do you want to ask me, boy?”

“Shall I sing it or may I play?” asked Vinzi.

“Play, for I must hear your pipe,” Pater Silvanus replied with a friendly smile.

They lost no time and began. Vinzi, entirely sure of his two singers and much encouraged by the monk’s great kindness, played, not the melody, but a little accompaniment which he had practiced for himself.

At the end of the song Pater Silvanus glanced at Vinzi affectionately. Then laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looking him in the eyes he said, “I’d like to know something, boy, and you must be sure to tell me the truth. Have you ever heard this melody before or one that was a little like it to some other words?”

“No, it belongs to this song. I only found it when I got your words from the grandfather,” Vinzi replied guilelessly, looking up at the questioner with wide, honest eyes.

“I’d like to hear the song once more,” said the monk. “Don’t leave out either the verses or the accompaniment.”

The three began again, happily, for to be asked to repeat it was a sign that it had pleased the monk.

“Now,” said Pater Silvanus, when they had come to the end, “You must hear how my harmonium sounds to it. I wonder if you’ll like it?”

Going up to the big high box, he opened it and began to play.

Vinzi listened breathlessly. What wonderful deeply gripping tones! His whole heart was shaken.

And was it possible? It sounded so strangely familiar; yes, it was his own melody with the accompaniment the pipe had played. But how different, how full and rich!

Vinzi stood still in silent rapture when the tones had died away.

“Oh, that was beautiful, much more beautiful than our music,” he said, quite carried away with the beautiful sounds.

“It was your song, boy, and I did not have to add much,” said the monk kindly. “Come nearer; have you never before heard such an instrument?”

“No,” answered Vinzi, after stepping quite near to the harmonium. “But I have heard a piano.”

The monk asked Vinzi what music he had heard on the piano and Vinzi related the story of the short music lessons which he had enjoyed so much.

Stroking Vinzi’s curly hair a few times, the monk smiled sympathetically. Then he asked, “Do you think you would get pleasure from learning how to play my instrument?”

Vinzi hardly knew if he had heard aright, he was so thrilled. With glowing eyes he looked silently at the monk.

“Well, I suppose you mean yes.”

“A thousand times yes,” Vinzi finally was able to say.

“Good! Tell your uncle Lorenz about it and let me know tomorrow morning what he says. If he doesn’t object, we can play a little every morning.”

Giving his hand to the boys, Pater Silvanus, after saying a kind word to each of them in turn, opened the door and let them out, and they strolled gaily down the mountain-side. Vinzi was walking in a perfect dream beside his companions, who were both talking with animation. He kept on hearing Pater Silvanus’ words, “Would you get pleasure from learning how to play my instrument?” Give him pleasure? It was a happiness he could hardly comprehend.

Vereli had turned off and gone back to the tower without Vinzi’s noticing it, and before long the other two were home. During supper time Jos related to his parents how friendly Pater Silvanus had been and what he had proposed to do for Vinzi, if his father did not object.

“Of course not,” said the latter at once, “I am glad that Vinzi has the chance to learn something fine.”

Early next morning Vinzi came to Pater Silvanus and repeated his uncle’s words with a radiant face.

“Then let us begin at once,” said the monk, leading the boy to the great room with the harmonium.

These lessons differed considerably from Alida’s, and the teacher seemed to forget the time as much as his pupil. One hour and a second hour had gone by, when the sudden sound of a bell reminded Pater Silvanus how late it really was. Quickly closing his instrument and giving the boy his hand, he said, “We’ll go on tomorrow, but be sure to come as early as today.”

Vinzi went away so filled with happiness that he must run right over to the grandfather and tell him all the wonderful and unexpected things that had happened to him. No one could have been able to share his joy better than the grandfather, who was as pleased as if it had all happened to him.

Vinzi told of everything that the Pater had already explained and taught him, and he did not leave without giving his solemn promise often to bring reports of his progress and at the same time pipe the old man a little song. A glorious succession of days followed for Vinzi, and the further Pater Silvanus took him the more his burning desire grew to get still further. Pater Silvanus himself seemed to find pleasure in the lessons, for he taught his pupil every morning, and sometimes the lessons lasted fully three hours. When the monk had to leave for other duties, he let Vinzi stay and practice what he had prepared with him. The boy sat many an hour in the quiet house. No noise ever interrupted him, and the time flew by unnoticed. When the sun finally slanted across the harmonium through a certain window, he knew that evening was near. Quickly shutting the instrument, he noiselessly went down the long corridor and out to the road. This gave him time enough to visit the grandfather and find his cousins and their comrades still gathered together. He was greeted with fresh enthusiasm every time. A chorus of various frightful noises always followed his arrival, because every owner of a pipe wanted to show him what he had learned to play. Vinzi could not help wondering at the number of boys who owned pipes since he had left the pasture. The boys had possibly found out how to make them themselves.

His bargain with Russli had been firmly kept. Every morning going up or in the evening coming home the little one was inseparable from Vinzi.

“Russli, you have enough pipes now,” said Vinzi one day while he was wandering home with his little comrade behind the cows. He had just delivered his daily pipe and added: “In all this time you should have learnt not to tickle the cows, Russli, without always expecting a reward.”

“And so I have,” Russli agreed, “Because I have so much to do nowadays.”

Vinzi could not help wondering at Russli’s quick response; in fact all the little boy’s mischievous deeds had really come only from idleness.

“What keeps you so busy?” asked Vinzi.

“I’ll show it to you, but no one else must know about it,” replied Russli mysteriously.

He led Vinzi away from the road to the old larch trees, where the two used to sit in the old days when Vinzi had made his first pipes.

“Tell me something, Russli,” Vinzi began again, “did you put all your pipes in a pile together or did you give them to the boys who had none. So many have good pipes now and not the kind they used to make themselves.”

“I don’t ever give away my beautiful pipes,” replied Russli, quite hurt at a supposition throwing doubt on the sensibleness of his actions. “Come, you can see for yourself.”

They were standing at the exact place where Vinzi used to sit on a high mossy place beside the fragrant violets. Stooping down, Russli picked up several pieces of moss-covered earth which lay there cleverly joined together. He put them aside and shovelled away the loose earth underneath with both hands, disclosing a rather large hole. After lifting out a strong folded paper serving as cover, Russli asked his companion to look in. To his intense surprise Vinzi saw a collection of most varied objects: piles of nuts and dried prunes, match boxes, colored marbles, old knives and tobacco boxes, a little pump, a leather purse and a watch-chain of brass.

“What is this, Russli? To whom do all these things belong?” asked Vinzi, truly astonished.

“They all belong to me. I traded one of these things for every pipe you gave me. Do you see now?” asked Russli, proudly glancing at his storehouse.

“But what are you going to do with them all?” Vinzi inquired, still puzzled.

“I’ll keep them and then I’ll trade them again for something better. You see the pipes are only common wood, after all,” Russli said confidentially.

Vinzi had to laugh.

“You must become a tradesman, Russli, for you seem to understand all about it. But you won’t have anything more to do now, since our bargain is off.”

“Oh yes, I’ll have just as much work as ever. I first uncover my hole every morning, dig away the earth and count everything to see if anything has been stolen in the night. Then I have to pack and cover them up and put on the moss in such a way that no one can find the place. In the afternoon I have to sit on the lookout so that no one finds my cave and takes my things.”

Vinzi could not comprehend these watchful exertions on behalf of such treasure, for he totally lacked the tradesman’s spirit. He was glad, however, that this new activity kept the little fellow busy. He was convinced that he would leave the cows in peace now, even without his usual reward.

The month of August had passed and the first fog was drifting over the mountains. Several times messages had been brought up from Leuk to say that the time was drawing near for Vinzi to come home. The boy’s parents felt that they had taken advantage of their relatives’ kindness long enough and they begged their cousin to take the next opportunity of sending the boy home with someone. Word had always been sent back to Leuk to the effect that the summer was not over and that no one wanted to let Vinzi go. Furthermore he was so well and happy that the parents might let him prolong his stay on the mountain. Father Lorenz was just entering the room where his wife was preparing the evening meal with her accustomed calm. He sat down on a chair, for no special work had to be done till the boys returned with the cattle and after a moment’s thought, said, “Have you noticed how much Vinzi has changed lately?”

“In what way?” asked his wife.

“He seems suddenly to have grown a whole year or two older,” said Lorenz, “ever since he began to spend most of his time with Pater Silvanus. I notice it in the way he plays his pipe and the way he sings and talks. It is as if the boy had been transplanted from the shadow into the sunshine. Everything in him seems to have blossomed out suddenly.”

“I don’t quite understand what you mean,” replied the woman, “but I always said that Vinzi looks as fresh and neat as a young appletree in bloom. And I say another thing besides. If Vinzi were a beggar-boy, I’d adopt him right away and I’d love him just as much as my own boys. I can say that and I’ll stick to it.”

“Well, so you can,” said the man with a smile. “But do you know, if Vinzi had been a vagabond without the kind of mother they say he has, he would never have been the same. He belongs to a well-brought-up family and comes from parents who look after their children. That’s the reason why he is so nice.”

Heavy steps approached the door at that moment--clearly not the pattering the boys usually made, which was always accompanied with loud yodels and cries.

“Who is outside?” asked Lorenz, opening the door.

A well-knit man whom he knew as a fruit merchant from Leuk stood outside. Lorenz immediately offered him his hand.

“I haven’t seen you for a long time, Lesa. How are things with you? I come with a message from your cousin down there and he sends you his love,” said the man heartily, shaking Lorenz by the hand.

The latter was a little startled, because he felt sure that the visit had been made on Vinzi’s behalf. The man had often travelled over the mountain before and had practically never come to see him. He invited him to step inside and make himself at home. But this could not be done as the merchant had a wagon and two pairs of lively horses waiting for him. He only wanted to deliver his message from Vinzenz Lesa, who had only heard yesterday that a team was going across the mountain. He had, therefore, not had time to write a letter. The farmer had been anxious to use this good opportunity of having his boy brought home. All the fruit dealer added was that he expected to return in two days, when his business was done, and take the boy along.

Lorenz took the matter so much to heart that he could say nothing. He saw that Vinzi must leave in two days.

“I’ll be here on Tuesday at eight in the morning, Lesa,” concluded the man, casting a questioning look at the silent farmer. “I suppose you understand me.”

“Oh, yes, only too well,” replied the other. “The boy will be ready for you in time, you can count on that.”

He followed the man to the road, where stood a great wagon loaded with sacks and harnessed to four strong horses. Just as the big team drove off with loud tinkling of bells, the boys came down singing and shouting with the cattle.

Lorenz walked towards them with a heavy heart. Should he give his merry boys the unwelcome news at once? Then all their happiness would vanish at once. Lorenz had a soft heart and found himself unable to do it. Greeting the boys in a carefree manner, he let everything go its accustomed round.

After supper the singing began as usual, and they sang one song after another, as had grown to be the custom of the house. They sang as merrily as larks in spring, only the father could not quite join in heartily, for a heavy load was on his heart.

He realized that he must tell them that evening, as the time was already so short. Just after the mother had said the customary words, “I suppose we have to stop now, nine o’clock has struck,” he made his announcement in a few clear words. Quite thunderstruck, everyone sat silent with surprise and sorrow. The mother was the first to regain her speech.

“Well, I hope you said that it was out of the question and that we cannot give up the boy at such short notice,” she said with an animation not usual to her. “I’d like to know what he means in coming here and trying to rob us of the boy without the slightest ceremony, the way one might pull off a branch from a hedge. I hope you gave him a proper talking to.”

“The man has not come to do us harm,” Lorenz said calmly. “You mustn’t forget that Vinzi’s parents can call him home whenever they please. Won’t you allow them some interest in the boy? Besides, no one can deny that the opportunity is splendid.”

By this time the boys also had regained control of their emotions and lost no time in giving vent to such outcries and objections that the father suggested they all go to bed. Often good ideas had come over night during sleep, he said, and these words proved to have an excellent effect. Each boy thought that a good idea might come to him which might prevent Vinzi’s departure. The mother was hoping that the father would find some obstacle to the journey, for all his best ideas always came over night. But by saying that the best thoughts come over night the father had meant to say that they would in time realize that they would have to bear the inevitable.

Vinzi had not said a word. When he sat on his threshold later on, looking up at the stars, he was conscious of a deep inner conflict. He looked forward to seeing his mother and Stefeli again, yes and his father, too. Maybe the latter would be kind to him now as he used to be in the old days Vinzi remembered so well, when he would let the boy ride on his knees and would say to him, “Just ride ahead, Vinzi; as soon as you can ride you shall have a horse.” Vinzi could not quite remember when his father had begun to treat him less kindly. He hardly even knew the reason why.

On the other hand was the full realization that all his marvellous life on the mountain with these kind people had come to an end. Yes, and the music, all the music, too. There was no one who would be able to help him at home, no one. Should the whole thing really be over for good and all? His heart contracted painfully at this thought, but the next moment he found joy again in the happy anticipation of going home and seeing his loved ones.

Even if the music must stop when he got home, he would not entirely lose his good teacher, Pater Silvanus. As consolation remained the hope that he would probably return some day, and this thought was his last comfort before he went to sleep.

In the morning there was no time for talk and arguments, for they had to make an early start. Jos and Faz were wandering off with the cows and Vinzi was just following with Russli, when Uncle Lorenz drew Vinzi to one side and said in a low voice, “It can’t be helped Vinzi, and I am sure you’ll be glad to go home. I specially wanted to tell you so you can take leave of Pater Silvanus and the grandfather. It’s your last day, for the wagon will come for you tomorrow at eight.”

This settled it for good. Vinzi went away silently, which was far from pleasing Russli. “You ought to talk to me,” he said a little crossly after they had gone quite a distance.

“I can’t talk well today, something seems to choke me,” replied Vinzi. “But don’t be unhappy. As soon as I get home I’ll send you something for your collection.”

“You don’t need to go home at all,” Russli said with firm conviction. “Faz has thought out something to stop your going. He told Jos about it at the pump. He is going on the street tomorrow morning to wait for the wagon, and as soon as it stops he means to climb up and say that he is the boy from Leuk. Then the man will drive off, and only when they come to the other side of the mountain will Faz jump down and say that he is not the right boy after all. Then he’ll run back. Do you see now? The man can’t do anything then for it will be too far for him to turn back.”

Vinzi was not convinced that his trip could be prevented that way, but he felt quite touched that Faz was so anxious to keep him. He really had seen the least of Faz.

“What are you going to send me for my collection?” Russli inquired.

“I don’t want to tell you,” replied Vinzi. “If it is a surprise, you’ll like it so much better.”

“Is it something to eat?” Russli asked, nevertheless.

“No, and not anything to drink, either,” said Vinzi, “but I won’t tell you anything more about it or it won’t be a surprise.”

After taking leave of Russli at the pasture Vinzi went up to the convent as usual. He had been told always to go straight to the large room and wait for Pater Silvanus there. This was usually only a short time, but when the Pater entered today, Vinzi did not stand in his usual mood of happy anticipation at the harmonium, and his eyes did not glisten. On the contrary he came up to the monk quite crushed, and after a questioning look sadly informed him that this was to be the last lesson, as he was going home tomorrow.

“Oh, what a shame, what a shame!” said Pater Silvanus slowly. “But won’t you be able to keep up your music at home?”

Vinzi fought as well as he could to keep back the tears at this question. Despite his downcast eyes his teacher saw that he had not been able to restrain them as he answered, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Courage, boy,” said Pater Silvanus, kindly patting him on the shoulder. “Keep up your spirits! It is always lovely to go home again, and if God finds that music is the right thing for you, it is easy enough for Him to send someone into your path who will help you further. Besides, you are sure to come up to us again and as soon as you do, we’ll take it up again.”

The monk had seized Vinzi’s hand in a fatherly way and led him out. In the doorway he gave the boy his blessing and heartily said, “God protect you!” after which he took leave of his pupil.

The boy had barely been able to mumble his thanks, for the tears were choking him. He felt intensely grateful that the teacher had made the leave-taking so short, because he could not possibly have controlled himself any longer.

Vinzi went toward the place where the dark roses had bloomed. The bushes were still green, but few roses remained.

He gazed about him once more. The sun had just parted the fog, and all about him began to gleam, the snow peaks, the mountain streams, the walls of rock, and above all the deep blue sky. He was glad to see it once more.

He next ran to the tower where the grandfather occupied his accustomed seat in the sunshine.

“You come early today; that is right,” he greeted the approaching figure. “But what is wrong, boy? What is the matter?” he added as soon as Vinzi stood before him. “That certainly will make us all sad,” he replied, when Vinzi had informed him of the reason for his early visit. “Do you know, boy, my hope has been all along that you would come and sing me my song in case I should die. But I might still be here next summer, so let us hope that you’ll be here again, too. We’ll part with that thought now.” The grandfather heartily shook Vinzi’s hand, as he was unwilling to detain him longer. His relatives probably expected him home soon, as it was his last day with them.

Vinzi hurried straight home, for the grandfather probably was right. His aunt Josepha, who had meanwhile come to the conclusion that Vinzi’s departure could not be prevented, rejoiced when she saw him coming. She could now talk quietly to him a bit. The suddenness of it all had destroyed her accustomed calm and she had longed to see him.

Aunt Josepha and Vinzi again sat together as on the day of his arrival. Her happy frame of mind was fully restored when Vinzi assured her that he had no better wish than to come back to the mountain again another year. He hoped that he might be one of her household again and sleep in his lovely fragrant chamber.

When the family sat together in the evening, Father Lorenz said, “Come now! Singing is the best remedy against sad thoughts.”

He began a song himself. The others, joining in, kept it up right through the evening.

Next day Faz’s plan did not succeed. Just as the brothers were ready to depart and were taking leave from Vinzi, they heard the repeated sounds of a whip. This warned Father Lorenz that the fruit dealer had arrived even earlier than he had said. As he could not leave his horses, he wanted to notify them of his coming and looking at the road a few steps away from the house, he saw that his signal had been understood.

The whole family including even the inmates of the stable, strolled over to the street, and the fruit dealer could not help wondering at the strange procession.

Vinzi climbed up to his high seat, and after he had taken leave of each separately, the horses started off. All five gazed after Vinzi with genuine grief, and Russli alone felt slightly consoled by the thought of the promised surprise.

When the wagon passed the spot where the tower stood in the meadow, the whole edge of the road was peopled with a crowd of noisy boys. More and more seemed to gather and finally they thundered a loud “Hurrah!” and cried “Come again!” which was repeated a second time in such a noisy way that the four horses actually reared. Black Vereli had been the instigator of this, and at the last greeting of the Tower Boys his voice could be distinctly heard above all others.

At his bench alone sat the grandfather, waving his hat high in the air, and Vinzi replied by swinging his cap.

In the convent a window opened and a hand kindly waved good-bye to Vinzi. It was that of Pater Silvanus.

After a short upward stretch by wild mountain beeches and old gnarled fir-trees the drive quickly went downwards into the valley.