Marching into an open square, they formed a compact group about the cantor, and started a fresh and stirring hymn; and presently stepped forth the smallest boy of them all, who paused a pace or two in advance of the others, and took up the strain alone. Clear and sweet rang out his voice upon the frosty air, and listeners by the way turned to one another with nods and smiles of pleasure.
"That's little Bach," announced one.
"They say he is one of the best sopranos at St. Michael's," murmured another.
The lad seemed quite unconscious of the impression he was making, for his manner was as unaffected as though he were singing only to the barren trees. His dark face was not noticeably handsome, but was very earnest; and a certain plaintive note in his voice appealed to the company with singular power, for while the carol falling from his lips was blithe indeed, the eyes of his hearers were wet. Fervently he hymned the New Year's joy, now trilling, trilling, like a rapturous bird at springtime; now softly crooning with the sound of a distant violin.
When his solo ended, a round of applause and many bravos burst from his audience, but the boy stepped quickly back to his former place and finished the choral with the others.
In the crowd of bystanders, a man wearing a coat and cap of rough gray fur smiled broadly when the people applauded little Bach.
"Who is the boy?" inquired a stranger at his elbow.
"He is Sebastian Bach and my brother," announced the fur-coated man. "I am the organist at St. Michael's, and he is one of the leading sopranos."
"You should be proud of the child, for he sings remarkably well."