“The Herr Vice Chapelmaster really should be the Archbishop’s privy councillor, he is such a good guesser,” replied Wenzel, blushing and slightly embarrassed. “I brought a few little compositions with me, having learned from your good wife that you were all here with your instruments. May I ask you to run through them so that I may have your judgment on them?” “Certainly; we shall be a thousand times glad to play them,” replied Father Mozart. “What are these nice things?” “Six violin trios,” answered Wenzel, taking them from his pocket and handing them to Father Mozart. “Their composition has been a great pleasure to me, but whether my poor talent will satisfy you is another question.” “Well, we shall soon see,” said Father Mozart. “We will play the trios through and then have some of the food and drink my good wife has so generously provided. Let us get to work, dear friends. You, Wenzel, shall play the first violin, friend Schachtner the second, and I will undertake the bass upon the viola.” They were all willing, and went to the garden-house where their violins were. The scores were placed on the racks, the instruments perfectly tuned, and the playing was about to begin, when little Wolfgang, who had quietly stolen up, lightly nudged his father’s elbow. “What is it, child?” said he. “Where did you come from? Say what you wish quickly, for we are all ready to begin.” Wolfgang had been concealing something under his coat, but he now took it out, and his father saw a little but excellent violin, which he had brought from Vienna. “What does this mean?” he said with some surprise. “It means, father, I would like to play the violin with you,” replied Wolfgang. “Please let me play the second violin.” “Why, you silly child,” said his father, laughing, “what put such a notion as that in your head? You can make believe you are playing with us, but as to playing in earnest, you cannot do it. Perhaps the time may come when you can.” “I can now, really and truly,” said Wolfgang, with flashing eyes and a look of absolute confidence. “Did you learn to play the violin in your sleep?” said his father, jokingly. “No, not in my sleep, but when I was awake,” replied Wolfgang. “Just let me try once, papa, and then I will explain it all to you.” His father, of course, had not the slightest idea that Wolfgang had secretly learned the violin, and consequently thought the boy was only in sport. “When we go home, we will try a little minuet, Wolfgang, but don’t disturb us any more now.” “A minuet! That is easy,” answered the boy. “Let me play Herr Wenzel’s trio with you. Then I will show you what I can do.” His father now began to grow seriously displeased at the boy’s persistence, which seemed to him little else than idle boasting, and he somewhat unwillingly pushed him back. “Go away, go away,” said he. “Because you can play the piano it does not follow that you understand the violin. Go away, and don’t make yourself ridiculous.”