had the remains
reinterred in the upper parish church at Eisenstadt, where a simple
stone with Latin inscription is placed in the wall above the vault to
mark the spot.

VI

WOLFGANG MOZART

The early December dusk was closing in over the quaint old city of
Salzburg. Up on the heights above the town the battlements of the
great castle caught a reflection of the last gleams of light in the
sky. But the narrow streets below were quite in shadow.

In one of the substantial looking houses on a principal thoroughfare,
called the Getreide Gasse, lights gleamed from windows on the third
floor. Within, all was arranged as if for some special occasion.
The larger room, with its three windows looking on the street, was
immaculate in its neatness. The brass candlesticks shone like gold,
the mahogany table was polished like a mirror, the simple furniture
likewise. For today was Father Mozart's birthday and the little
household was to celebrate the event.

Mother Mozart had been busy all day putting everything in order
while Nannerl, the seven year old daughter, had been helping. Little
Wolfgang, now three years old, in his childish eagerness to be as busy
as the others, had only hindered, and had to be reprimanded once in a
while. One could never be vexed with the little elf, even if he turned
somersaults in new clean clothes, or made chalk figures all over the
living-room chairs. He never meant to do any harm, and was always so
tenderhearted and lovable, it was hard to scold him.

And this was the Father's birthday, about the most important of all
the family celebrations. Already the roast on the spit was nearing
perfection, while in the oven a fine cake was browning.

When all was ready and Leopold Mozart had received the good wishes
of the little household, baby Wolfgang was mounted on a footstool to
recite a poem, in honor of the occasion. When he had finished it he
stood quietly a moment then reaching out his tiny arms, clasped them
tightly about his father's neck, and said:

"Dear papa, I love you very, very much; after God, next comes my
papa."

Leopold Mozart was a musician and held the post of Vice-Capellmeister.
Music was honored in this simple home, and when two of the Court
musicians, friends of Father Mozart, came in to join the festivities
on this birthday night, a toast was drunk to the honor of _Musica_,
the divine goddess of tones.

"I wonder if even a little of my own musical knowledge and l