“Never,” replied Vinzenz Lesa.
Mrs. Lesa understood that Mr. Delrick desired to speak to her husband alone, so she kept the children with her indoors.
As soon as the men were seated on the bench, Mr. Delrick began: “I suppose, Mr. Lesa, you have guessed that I had a reason for coming back and changing my plans.”
“You do nothing without a good reason,” replied the other thoughtfully.
“I must tell you something which is so important that I wanted to lose no time,” continued Mr. Delrick. “I had planned to spend a day on the mountain to give Vinzi’s messages in person and to look up his friends there. First, I called on your worthy cousin, Mr. Lorenz Lesa and his wife. These good people could not speak enough about Vinzi. They miss him so much, for he made life exceedingly pleasant for old and young with his songs and music. I suppose a father likes to hear that?”
The latter nodded.
“Then I visited the old grandfather in the tower, who was greatly touched by Vinzi’s message. He said that Vinzi had given him the most beautiful hours he had had for years—the times your boy had trained the chorus to sing to the old man. It is the grandfather’s dearest wish to have the boy play for him when he is taking his last journey. I think that this must have been more than a light little song, for it could not otherwise have made such a deep impression on the grandfather. What do you think Mr. Lesa?”
Vinzenz Lesa silently nodded again.
“When I asked the grandfather if Pater Silvanus knew anything about music, he grew quite talkative. He told me that Pater Silvanus had been a very fine musician and had spent many years in a college in Rome. He had sought out the solitude on the mountain voluntarily and had lived there many years, doing good. I found him just the man I was looking for,” Mr. Delrick went on, “a man who could give me an opinion on Vinzi’s talent. So of course I went to see the monk. As soon as he heard that I came from Vinzi, he was very friendly and immediately asked me what the boy was doing with his music. Then I told him that I had come especially to find out what he thought of Vinzi’s gift. The good monk grew enthusiastic. ‘You ask me if he has talent,’ he exclaimed. ‘The boy is simply full of music. When I studied with him I never had the feeling of teaching him anything. It was more like drawing everything out of him.’ In order that I could judge he told me that the first melody Vinzi had composed and had worked out by himself was so original and lovely that he himself often played it. Vinzi had also composed a tune to some words, and this had simply won every one’s heart. The cow-herds on the pastures as well as the girls at their spinning-wheels would often sing it. The young lads whistled it in the barns and stables, and people all about hummed it and called it ‘Our song.’ No one quite remembered where it had come from, and it had grown to be the favorite property of the whole mountain-side. I don’t doubt the boy’s talent any longer, Mr. Lesa, and I hope you also are convinced that it is worth while to open the way for such a gift and develop it. I am sure you mean to do so, Mr. Lesa.”
For a while the farmer deeply pondered, blowing clouds of smoke into the air. Then he said thoughtfully: “And what then? To develop it will mean to teach the boy to make music till he won’t want to do anything else. But Vinzenz Lesa wants no musician for a son. They are a shiftless crowd, and Vinzi has a good home. If he once begins to wander about, he won’t ever be able to settle down and that will be his ruin. How can you expect me, who realizes all this, to start him on it? No, sir, you can’t expect this!”