After setting the table in the little summer-house, Nannie returned home. The wine and viands had been served, and the chairs were pushed back, when Father Mozart heard a knock at the garden door. Little Wolfgang and a family friend entered, and were heartily greeted by all. “A thousand times welcome, dearest Wenzel,” exclaimed the vice chapelmaster, advancing to meet him and shaking both his hands. “This is fortunate, for you have come at a most auspicious time. I am very glad to see you.”
While the others were greeting the new-comer, Wolfgang slipped away to one side lest he should be seen and sent home again. He well knew there would be music in the summer-house, because the guests had brought their instruments, and music was the joy of his life. No one paid any attention to him. His father conversed intimately with Herr Wenzel, a clever young violinist who for some time had been taking lessons of him in composition; and the others, even if they had noticed Wolfgang’s presence, would not have had him sent away, for they were very fond of him. Young Wenzel admired the beautiful garden and its charming location, much to the satisfaction of Father Mozart. “Yes, I am very devoted to my little garden,” said he. “I never enjoy myself more in summer than I do here.”
“I can well believe it,” replied Wenzel. “How pleasant it must be to stroll here! How delightful the prospect and the flowers! How one could think and dream here! It must be a great satisfaction to work, compose, and meditate in this garden.”
“Yes; you have hit it exactly, Herr Wenzel,” said Father Mozart. “Whenever a good idea comes to me it is here in this cosy solitude. But what about your own affairs, my friend? You certainly have not come out here without some good reason for it. I see a roll of paper peeping out of your pocket which looks as if it might contain something nice.”
“The Herr Vice Chapelmaster really should be the Archbishop’s privy councillor, he is such a good guesser,” replied Wenzel, blushing and slightly embarrassed. “I brought a few little compositions with me, having learned from your good wife that you were all here with your instruments. May I ask you to run through them so that I may have your judgment on them?”
“Certainly; we shall be a thousand times glad to play them,” replied Father Mozart. “What are these nice things?”
“Six violin trios,” answered Wenzel, taking them from his pocket and handing them to Father Mozart. “Their composition has been a great pleasure to me, but whether my poor talent will satisfy you is another question.”
“Well, we shall soon see,” said Father Mozart. “We will play the trios through and then have some of the food and drink my good wife has so generously provided. Let us get to work, dear friends. You, Wenzel, shall play the first violin, friend Schachtner the second, and I will undertake the bass upon the viola.”
They were all willing, and went to the garden-house where their violins were. The scores were placed on the racks, the instruments perfectly tuned, and the playing was about to begin, when little Wolfgang, who had quietly stolen up, lightly nudged his father’s elbow. “What is it, child?” said he. “Where did you come from? Say what you wish quickly, for we are all ready to begin.”
Wolfgang had been concealing something under his coat, but he now took it out, and his father saw a little but excellent violin, which he had brought from Vienna. “What does this mean?” he said with some surprise.