"I am proud of him—ah, here come the collectors."
The singing was done, and in and out among the bystanders went the boys, passing their wooden plates for pennies in exchange for their serenade.
Nearly every one contributed something, for the people of Ohrdruf were genuine music-lovers, and they knew that the money gathered in this fashion would be divided equally among the boys, to use as they pleased.
The choir broke ranks, having paraded and collected in all the streets of the town, and black-robed boys scurried away in every direction.
"Are you bound for home now, Sebastian?" asked Georg Erdmann, the soloist's marching companion.
"No," replied the other, "I am going to the church to practise."
"Oh, little Bach is going to practise on the organ," exclaimed a woman who had overheard the boy's speech. "Come, sister, let's go in and listen while he plays."
Whereupon the two matrons followed him across the square, and the fur-coated organist, who had lately seemed so gratified at Sebastian's success, scowled fiercely.
"I wish that boy would stick to his singing, and let the organ alone," he muttered. "People tell me every day that if I don't look sharp my little brother will beat me at my own profession. He would make me a nice return for my kindness, if, after I have taken him into my house, fed him, clothed him, and taught him everything that he knows about music, he should try to outstrip me in my own work and shame me before my friends. I won't have it! I won't bear it! I'll admit that the boy is industrious and generally obedient, but I sha'n't let him impose on me, if he is of my own flesh and blood. Why should these people go to hear him practise? Why don't they drop in while I am playing? I am the organist, although people seem to forget the fact. I think I'll step over to the church and see what these people are going mad about."