"And what before the clavichord, my boy?"
"A mouth organ, a tin trumpet, a fife, a drum, and a dinner-bell, your grace."
A dozen irrepressible titters burst from the attendants, but the duke grew very grave.
"And that is all, lad?"
"All, your grace."
"No lessons?"
"No—except when Aunt Anna and I taught each other. But you mustn't tell father about the clavichord, your grace, because it is a secret, and father told me to give away my own instruments, and Aunt Anna wouldn't like to give away her clavichord, so please don't let him know about it."
"I am afraid that he knows already," said the duke, smiling; and at his signal, the Halle surgeon emerged from his corner, pale with amazement.
Georg was so confounded at sight of his parent, that, unable to meet his expected look of condemnation, he buried his face in the folds of the duke's breakfast cloth.