Frederick bent with impatience toward the lad who had dared to bring a petition from any one at a moment so ill chosen, and was about to dismiss him abruptly, when his ear caught one word of the boy's tremulous speech. The monarch's look of annoyance changed to one of joyful surprise, and rising quickly, he commanded the musicians to instant silence. "Bach has come," declared the king in exultant tone; "Bach has come; the mighty maker of music. Bring him hither that we may do him homage!" A hundred exclamations greeted the king's announcement, and presently a man of distinguished appearance and quiet dignity was ushered into the apartment. Down from his throne stepped the king, advancing half-way up the hall to meet the new-comer. By a quick gesture, he forbade the stranger to bend the knee, but said simply,-- "Play for us." Without a word the visitor sat down before the piano, and speedily the room was filled with such music as had never before been heard in the king's palace. Frederick would not permit him to leave the instrument, but sat close by, in rapt enjoyment, while Bach gave one after another of his marvellous compositions. "For a long, long time I have known of you, Sebastian Bach," murmured the king, when at last they parted for the night. "Strange tales have come to my ears of the court composer of Poland and Saxony. I have heard of the princes who are proud to take you by the hand; of the beggars that listen in companies before your door; but I never imagined that music could be such music as you have given us here." That night, had the palace of Potsdam had heart to feel and brain to understand, it surely would have throbbed with hospitality, for within its well-defended walls slept two who led the world in thought and action: one was Frederick the Great; the other, Bach the Victor. FOOTNOTE: [3] Bach (pronounced _Bakh_). "THE LITTLE BOY AT ABERDEEN" [BYRON] "Vacation's here! Vacation's here!" shouted George Byron, bursting into the room and throwing his books upon the table. "And a pity it is," returned his mother coldly; "you are so bad at numbers that you ought to be at school every day in the year." George flushed deeply, but did not reply. He had learned that when Mrs. Byron wore this worried expression it was wiser of him to keep silence. Doubtless she had received one of those troublesome business letters again. Such missives always did disturb matters in the Aberdeen apartment, often causing Mrs. Byron to speak sharply to those about her.