Winter had come again to Ohrdruf, and one day Sebastian climbed to the organ-loft, placed his cherished book upon the rack, and began to play the Pachelbel fugues. Mrs. Bach, walking in the street, heard the music and entered the church. Passing up the stair, she drew a stool from a shadowy corner and sat down to listen and enjoy. Sebastian welcomed her with a nod and smile, for the sympathy of his sister-in-law was his daily comfort. One number after another he played, and the harmonies swelling from the organ at touch of his flying fingers vibrated through the sacred place from threshold to chancel. Musician and listener were so absorbed that they failed to hear a footfall upon the stair, and both were unaware that a third presence was added to the gallery. Like a thunderbolt out of a blue heaven came a derisive hoot in Sebastian's ear. His hands were grasped as in a vise, and Christoff's face bent menacingly above him. "Again, again, again," thundered the organist; "again you have stolen my book, despite your promise!" Sebastian struggled to his feet, and confronted his accuser quietly. "I have not stolen your book. This one is mine." "Yours," sneered Christoff; "pray, where did you get a book of Pachelbel's fugues?" Further concealment was useless, now that his brother had discovered the existence of his manuscript, so Sebastian in a few words told the story of his painful and valiant achievement. Christoff listened amazedly, but no relenting gleam softened his look of scorn. He laughed harshly when the tale was ended, and, catching the fated book from the rack, rolled it tightly and crowded it into his leathern girdle. "I'll end this pretty business at once," he shouted, bringing his teeth together with a snap. "Finding that steel lattices are not sufficient protection against your prying fingers, I'll lock my book behind a door of solid iron, and," triumphantly tapping the volume in his belt, "I'll put this one along with it for safe keeping." "Christoff, husband!" cried Mrs. Bach, her voice breaking into sobs; "do not be so cruel as to take his book away. He has worked so long, so hard--" She ended her defence abruptly as her eyes fell upon the boy. No trace of passion or grief distorted Sebastian's features, but, instead, his countenance was singularly serene. Turning toward his brother with a smile of mysterious power and sweetness, he said,-- "You may lock my book behind twenty iron doors if you wish, Christoff, but the music is all written in my heart. You can bury my volume in the earth or the ocean, but you never can take the fugues away from me again, for I have memorized them, every one." Many years later King Frederick II. of Prussia assembled his brilliant court in the throne room at Potsdam to listen to a concert arranged by the musicians of the royal palace. The program was but fairly begun when a page entered the hall, and dropped upon his knee before the king, with a whispered message.