The master peered forward, incredulous. Slowly he crept up behind the boy, his eyes fastened on the moving hands. His shadow fell on the keys and the boy looked up. His face lighted with a smile.
"Go on," said the master sternly. His eyes still watched the hands. Slowly his big fingers reached over and grasped the thumb as it pressed lightly on a key. "Who told you that?" he demanded.
The boy looked down at it, puzzled. Then his face grew a little ashamed and doubtful. "It is wrong, I know," he admitted. "Yes, it is wrong."
"Who taught you?"
"Nay, no one would teach it. I just happened—one day. It makes it so easy."
"Yes, I see." The master's voice was curt.
"I will never do it again," said the boy humbly.
"No—you might play it for me once—just once, for me," said the master.
The boy's hands ran lovingly to the keys. They crept along the maze of sound and rose and fell in the changing rhythm. Shyly the small thumb darted out and found its key, and filled the great church with the tremulous, haunting call of note answering note.
The master bending over the keys wiped his brow and looked at the boy proudly, with a little wonder in his face. "Good.... Ach—but good, good!" he murmured softly.