The director swung his cane vigorously, shouting his orders above the strains of the lusty symphony. A few measures were bravely rendered, when the conductor suddenly threw down his stick with a look of extreme exasperation. "Peter," he said quietly, in the tone of a teacher sorely tried but patient, "please don't _jingle_ the bell. Take the clapper in your hand, and tap it when I say 'one' and 'three.' Like this!" and seizing the bell, he illustrated his meaning, compelling the fat offender to perform the feat to his satisfaction before going on with the rehearsal. When the bell-ringer had been sufficiently drilled, the director once again took up his baton and ordered a fresh beginning. They were playing in good earnest, for this imperious conductor desired something far above the discordant blasts that are usually obtained from musical toys. Weeks before he had assigned to each playmate a certain instrument, teaching him in private to draw real melody from it; and to-day he had assembled the six performers in his bedroom, introducing them to the delight of joining together in a familiar musical theme. To be sure, the toys were shrill and piping, the players often faulty and careless, but after an hour's persistent and perspiring labor on the part of all concerned, the Duke's Military March rang through the house in creditable time and tune. While the music continued with true martial spirit, the door opened softly, and a plump, fair girl of sixteen peeped into the room. Perceiving the occupation of the children, she smiled brightly and slipped away. A moment later another form appeared upon the threshold, that of an elderly, dignified man. His hair was white, his eyes were protected by huge gold spectacles, his shoulders were slightly bent; but a close observer would have readily detected a resemblance between the handsome old gentleman and the leader of the orchestra. One bore the markings of age, the other the dimples of childhood; but they plainly displayed a kindred will, energy, and intelligence, although one was seventy and the other but seven. Mr. Händel was the town surgeon of Halle, appointed by the Duke of Sächse, and the flaxen-haired boy was the idolized child of his declining years. At first sight of the juvenile orchestra the visitor smiled as indulgently as had the girl before him, entering the chamber unobserved, and seating himself in a distant corner where he could watch the highly interesting performance. But he turned quickly grave when his eye fell upon the small director, who was bending anxiously forward, his whole being absorbed in the sounds that issued from the toys at signal of his cane. The flush that burned the leader's cheek, the intensity of his glance, and the strained alertness of his lithe young body, seemed a forbidding vision to the old gentleman, for his face clouded and he shook his head in increasing disapproval.