“It came to me because I wanted to sing you the song you could not remember,” said Vinzi.
“It is very good of you to give an old man such pleasure. But wait! I nearly forgot something,” said the grandfather, searching about in his pockets. “I have thought of you, too, for I told Pater Silvanus about your wanting a certain kind of song. You can see how good he is, for look! he brought it to me. The only condition he made is that you are to sing him the song when you have found the tune for it. Oh, here it is at last.”
The grandfather now pulled out a long sheet of paper, which he gave to Vinzi. A song was written on it in firm large letters.
“I have to say something else, boys,” continued the grandfather. “Jos, you know where the cellar is. Bring me the cheese which has been cut, and one of the largest loaves of bread. Vinzi must go with you, because it is too heavy for you alone. Take it down to the boys who have sung for me today. You can have a little feast together, for you have made one for me, too. Take a cup out of the kitchen so you can take turns drinking. Xaver can milk for you the cows that give the best milk.”
The grandfather always called Vereli by his real name, for the boy’s father and grandfather had been called the same before him.
The two now ran away to do his bidding and found themselves puffing hard under their load while climbing the cellar-stairs. But they did so with radiant faces, for they happily looked forward to arriving at the pasture.
“Come again, boys,” said the grandfather, gratefully shaking their hands. “Make some other Sunday happy for me sometime with your beautiful singing.”
All the singers had remained on the huge pasture with the Tower Boys, and yells of delight greeted the laden couple. They settled down immediately to begin the feast. Their appetites proved astonishing, for many of the boys from the small cottages thereabout usually got only potatoes for their daily fare.
Vinzi had settled a little behind the close circle. He wished to be alone in order to read the words of his song. The melody was still haunting him, and he wondered if the words and music would harmonize. Pulling out the paper, he found that he could read the fine clear writing without trouble. He read it over and over again. Suddenly a terrific longing drew him up to the field of roses, a longing which he found impossible to resist. Getting up, he quietly slipped away from the busy feast-makers. Without stopping he ran up the slope into the midst of the marvellous rose field and settled down on his chosen spot, surrounded on every side by thick clumps of bloom. Here he could hear his song again and sing it to himself. He pulled out his sheet and read:
Behold there in the evening light