When he approached with it, the father exclaimed with surprise, examining the long pipe on all sides, “What a well-made pipe! This is no ordinary pipe at all, but a regular shepherd’s pipe with all the regular holes. I wonder if I can still play.”
Setting it to his lips, he brought forth sounds that somewhat resembled melody.
“Oh, father can do it better the first time, than we did after trying lots of times,” said Jos astonished. “Only Vinzi can do it better still.”
“We must hear him now,” said the father, handing the pipe to the boy. “Won’t you please play for us?”
Vinzi remembered one piece better than any and he had already played it for the boys at least ten times that day. It was the little tune Alida had taught him.
He started to play.
When he came to the end there was no sound for a moment, because the lovely melody had moved everyone deeply.
“Yes, of course he plays differently from me,” said the uncle. “I’d like to know who taught you.”
“Isn’t it fine to have something beautiful like that in one’s own house, without having to seek it elsewhere?” said the aunt, quite overcome. “It’s worth more than many great festivities. If our musician only could play us a beautiful hymn, we could all join in and sing.”
“I’d love to,” said Vinzi, “I know lots, because mother always sings one at home with us every evening. What shall I play?”