"O Herr Müller," she said, turning to him, "I wish some day you could hear Hans play; I am sure you would like it. If only he could get lessons! I know he would excel in it."
"Is that so?" said the violinist; "then we must get that good Fräulein Drechsler to have him down to Dringenstadt, and I will hear him play; and then if we find there is real talent, I might recommend him to the society for helping those who have a turn for music, but are not able to pay for instruction."
Hans's eyes danced with delight at the idea, but in the meantime he knew his duty was to help his father as much as he could in his work as a wood-cutter. "But then some day," he thought, "who knows but I might be able to devote my time to music, and so it would all be brought about through the kindness of little Frida."
Frida was a happy girl when a few days after the violinist's visit to the Forest she set out for Dringenstadt, to live for a month with Fräulein Drechsler, and with her go on to Baden-Baden. A few more lessons were got from Herr Müller, the selection of music she was to perform gone through again and again, and all was ready to start the next day.
When Frida went to her room that evening, great was her amazement to see laid out on her bed a prettily-made plain black delaine morning dress, neatly finished off at neck and wrists with a pure white frill; and beside it a simple white muslin one for evening wear, with a white silk sash to match. These Miss Drechsler told her were a present from herself. Frida's young heart was filled with gratitude to the kind friend who was so thoughtful of her wants; and she wondered if a day would ever come when she would be able in any way to repay the kindnesses of the friends whom God had raised up for her.
In the meantime Herr Müller had told the Stanfords, in whose house the concert was to be held, about the young girl violinist whose services he had secured. They were much interested in her, and were prepared to give a hearty welcome, not to her only, but to her friend Miss Drechsler, whom they had already met.
Sir Richard Stanford, who was the head of an old family in the south of England, had with his wife come abroad for the health of their young and only daughter. Sir Richard and Lady Stanford were Christians, and interested themselves in the natives of the place where they were living, and themselves having highly-cultivated musical tastes, they took pleasure in helping on any of the poorer people there in whom they recognized the like talent.
"Father," said his young daughter Adeline, as she lay one warm day on a couch under a shady tree in the garden of their lovely villa at Baden-Baden, "suppose we have a concert in our villa some evening; and let us try and find out some good amateur performers, and also engage two or three really good professionals to play, so that some of the poorer players who have not opportunities of hearing them may do so, and be benefited thereby."
Anxious in any reasonable way to please their daughter, a girl not much older than Frida, Sir Richard and Lady Stanford agreed to carry out her suggestion; and calling their friend Herr Müller to their assistance, the private concert was arranged for, and our friend the child of the Black Forest invited to play at it.