Franz Erckman had lived in this way for nearly twenty years, and was just as bluff in manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as when he had first come there, an unknown young foreigner, without friends, or acquaintances, or money, and commenced in a modest way giving music-lessons to a few pupils at first, to many after a time. When the new church was built, and a new organ with great gilded pipes put in, his services were engaged, as well they might, for no other person in the whole village could have made any thing whatever out of all those stops, and pedals, and keys. Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a town, with a very respectable hotel, many tourists came down in the summer season from the city to rusticate for a week or two, and they always heard the organist with astonishment. Inquiries about him were so often repeated by these cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had finally grown to feel proud of its musician, and it became as natural to them to show off Franz Erckman as it did to call attention to the beautiful scenery. It would have been hard to have overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape could rarely have been found. However, all this praise and adulation had apparently made little effect upon the village music-master, who had been again and again invited to come up for one season to the city by these friendly tourists. They held out to him the allurements of the orchestras and operas, and told wonderful tales of the superb voices of the great _prime donne_. It was all in vain. He always thanked them for their proffered hospitality, but never accepted it, and lived along, seemingly content enough to teach the village children, and play the church-organ. Only his one servant knew how at night, and sometimes all night through, he tried ineffectually to satisfy his great craving for music, and how, not until the pale light of morning was visible in the east, would he shut his cottage-organ. And when he turned from it there was always a strange expression of despair upon his features. The people of the town said he was penurious, for he invariably exacted the tuition of each scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time it was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the pupil without a word, and there were no more lessons given until the quarter had been paid. However, they grew to know him so well that every body fell into the habit, in his case at least, of being punctual.