“They may be sitting in front of the house,” said Stefeli, holding fast to her intention.
As the mother turned back the little girl ran ahead; she wanted to see the house as soon as possible in order to discover anybody who might be sitting there. The question they had been discussing was not however the only thing on her mind. Stefeli longed most of all to see the two strange children who had moved into the house and whom she had seen the evening before.
Vinzi quietly wandered along at his mother’s side. He was not talkative any longer, but his mother was well accustomed to these changes in her boy.
“Tell me, Vinzi,” she asked now, “why did you keep on listening after the sound of the evening bells had died away?”
“I could still hear them,” Vinzi answered. “I suddenly heard such a wonderful song, which came down from the hills; the black fir trees seemed to join in with a deep bass and through it all the bells were tinkling their sparkling melody. Oh, it was beautiful! If only I could repeat it!”
“Wasn’t it a song you have heard before?” the mother asked sympathetically, seeking to understand. “If you sang me part of it I might find out which song you mean and tell you the words of it.”
“No, no,” Vinzi remonstrated, “it is no song I ever heard. The melodies were all entirely new. I still hear them but can’t repeat them.”
Meditating deeply the mother remained silent, for she could not understand what Vinzi meant. She herself had always found much pleasure in music and singing. She had taught her children to sing as soon as they were able to talk, and her boy had always enjoyed their daily evening song.
“Come, Vinzi,” she said at last, “let us sing a song now; then we’ll both feel happy again. Which one do you want to sing?”
“I don’t know, mother; if only I could sing the tune I hear,” he answered.