uickly around.

"That S'bastian--was he here?" he demanded.

"In there," replied the tall man, smiling. "No, no!" he laid his hand on
his companion's arm as he started forward. "Let be--let be!... We must
help him--that boy. You have not heard him play my organ. Wait!" He held
up his hand.... Music was stealing from the gloomy shadows of the
church.

"Come in," said the master. He pushed open a low door and they entered
the great church. Far up in the loft, struck by a shaft of light from a
gable in the roof, the boy was sitting, absorbed in sound. His face was
bent to the keys as his hands hovered and paused over them and drew
forth the strangely sweet sounds that filled the great building.

The two musicians below stood looking up, their big heads nodding
time.... Suddenly they paused and looked at each other with questioning
glance. The music was quickening and broadening with a clear, glad reach
of sound, and underneath it ran a swiftly echoing touch that bound the
notes together and vibrated through them.

"How was he doing that?" whispered the small man excitedly. "You have
taught him that?"

The other shook his head.

"Come, we will see."

Together they tiptoed through the dark church, softly--up to the
organ-loft and peered in. The boy, oblivious to sight and sound, played
on.

Kerlman leaned far forward, craning his neck. He drew back, a look of
stupefaction in his face. He held up his large thumb and looked at it
soberly.

"What is it?" whispered the other.

"You see, Johannes Bohm?" He shook the fat thumb in his companion's
face. "He does it with that!"

The master peered forward, incredulous. Slowly he crept up behind the
boy, his eyes fastened on the moving hands. His shadow fell on the keys
and the boy looked up. His face lighted with a smile.

"Go on," said the master sternly. His eyes still watched the hands.
Slowly his big fingers reached over and grasped the thumb as it pressed
lightly on a key. "Who told you that?" he demanded.

The boy looked down at it, puzzled. Then his face grew a little ashamed
and doubtful. "It is wrong, I know," he admitted. "Yes, it is wrong."

"Who taught you?"

"Nay, no one would teach it. I just happened--one day. It makes it so
easy."

"Yes, I see." The master's voice was curt.

"I will never do it again," said the boy humbly.

"No--you might play it for me once--just once, for me," said the master.

The boy's hands ran lovingly to the keys. They