The nephew, Joseph Haydn by name, had only lately come into the choir-master's family. He was a child of six years old, but had already shown such wonderful musical genius, that his parents had decided to place him with his uncle, where he would have great opportunities for musical study.
The little fellow now looked up from an old music book, for he could read music perfectly, and said timidly, 'I think I could manage the kettle-drum, uncle, if you would just show me a little how it should be played.'
'You, Joseph?' said the choir-master in surprise, as he looked down at the serious little face. 'It is not a violin, you know; if it were you could manage well enough, but you know nothing of kettle-drums.'
'Let me try, Uncle!' pleaded Joseph. Before long he had his wish, and both were in the big room over the church porch where the practices always took place.
Joseph's little fingers seemed to hold the drum-sticks as if to the manner born, and after a short rehearsal of the music to be played on the festival, the old man felt an immense load lifted off his shoulders.
'Capital! capital!' he exclaimed. 'I shall not miss poor Schmidt now; your touch is crisper than his!'
Then the door of the room was locked, and uncle and nephew returned home.
Joseph, however, as Easter drew near, became very anxious, and longed for an opportunity for further practice on the drum. His fingers might not be skilful enough: he could be sure of the notes without practice, but could he handle the sticks properly? He dared not ask his uncle for leave to go into the choir-room, and he had no drum in the house. What could he do? Practise he must, or he would never feel sure of himself.
'I will make a drum!' said the little fellow; 'I have an idea.'
There was a round basket in the out-house. It was generally used for flour, but it happened to be nearly empty now, and Joseph seized on this, as it was the shape of a drum; over it he stretched a clean dishcloth, fastening it as tightly as possible with string.