."

"You walked?"

The youth nodded.

"I have seen you before, here."

"Yes."

The old man watched him a minute. "You ought to have some beer with
that bread and cheese," he said. "Have you no coppers?"

The youth shook his head. "Reinken is my beer," he said, after a little.
His face was lighted with a sweet smile.

The old man chuckled. "Ja, ja!" He limped from the room. Presently he
returned with a pewter mug. It was foaming at the top. "Drink that," he
commanded.

The youth drank it with hearty quaffs and laughed when it was done. "Ja,
that is good!" he said simply.

The old man eyed him shrewdly. "In half an hour Reinken comes to play,"
he suggested craftily.

The youth started and flushed. "To-night?"

"Ja."

"I did not think he came at night," he said softly.

"Not often, but to-night. He wants to practise something for the
festival--with no one to hear," he added significantly.

The boy looked at him pleadingly. His hand strayed to his pockets. They
brought back two coppers, the only wealth he possessed.

The old man looked at him kindly and shook his head. "Nein," he said.
"It is not for the money I shall do it. It is because I have seen you
before--when he played. You shall hear him and see him. Come." He put
aside the youth's impulsive hand, and led the way up a winding, dark
stairway, through a little door in the organ-loft. Groping along the
wall he slipped back a panel.

The boy peered out. Below him, a little to the left, lay the great
organ, and far below in the darkness stretched the church. When he
turned, the old man was gone. Down below in the loft he watched his
twinkling path as the taper flashed from candle to candle.

The great Reinken was a little late. He came in hurriedly, pushing back
the sleeves of his scholar's gown as they fell forward on his hands. The
hands were wrinkled, the boy noted, and old. He had forgotten that the
master was old. Sixty years--seventy--ah, more than seventy. Nine years
ago he was that--at the Bach festival. The boy's heart gave a leap.
Seventy-nine--an old man! ... he should never meet him in open festival
and challenge him. There would not be time.... The music stole about him
and quieted his pulse. He stood watching the face as it bent above the
keys. It was a noble face. There was a touch of petulance in it, perhaps
of pride and impatience in the quick glance that lifted now and then.
But it was a grand face, with goodness in it, and stren