Then the boy told his story. He said that a playmate of his was an apprentice in a piano factory. Franz often begged to be allowed to go to the shop. At last his friend said, "You may go with me just this once." When he was ready to go home, Franz could not be found in the workshop. The apprentice hurried from one room to another. At last he found the little lad in the room where the pianos stood. He had been having a delightful time, picking out exercises on the white keys. Many times after that he went to the piano factory. Soon he had taught himself all that most children learn in a great many lessons.
The boy's singing teacher often said to the schoolmaster, "I have never before had such a pupil." One day he came to the father with tears in his eyes, saying, "Whenever I want to teach Franz anything, I find he knows it already."
The boy's father was anxious that Franz should become a member of the choir in the emperor's chapel. Those who sang in the choir first passed an examination in music. Then they were allowed to enter a school where music and other studies were taught.
Franz often saw the choir boys in their uniforms trimmed with bands of gold, and studied harder that he might one day enter the choir. When he was eleven years old, he passed the examination. The chapel master said, "You sing well, indeed, my boy."
When Franz arose to sing for the chapel masters, some of the boys began to point their fingers at his poor clothes. Franz could hear them whispering among themselves, "He must be a miller's son." When he began to sing, the whispering ceased. The sweet, pure tones filled the great room and the silence was unbroken.
One day the chapel master saw some music that Franz had composed. He said to himself "Franz Schubert is no ordinary child. He must study composition in earnest. He shall have the finest harmony teacher."
Franz and his new teacher became fast friends. The lad was eager to learn, but the master found little to teach. He used to say, "He has already learned everything, and God has been his teacher."
During the years that Franz attended the choir school it was his custom to visit his parents on Sunday afternoon. The schoolmaster and three of his sons had formed a quartet. The father played the violoncello, Franz the viola, and the others the first and second violins.
Although Franz was the youngest, he was the first to notice a mistake. If it was one of his brothers who made the mistake, Franz would frown. If it was the father who played a wrong note, no notice of it was taken the first time. If he played incorrectly the second time, Franz would smile and say modestly, "There must be something wrong, father."