independent of the favorite. But no; deprived of his old instrument
all else was lost to him. For hours would he sit before his humble
door, heedless of his wife's entreaties or the childish prattle of
Franz and Nanette; his eye riveted on the old cathedral, and his hands
playing nervously, as though cheating himself with the idea he was
still at the organ. Then roused by a sudden inspiration, he would rush
to the piano and play till his hands dropped from mere exhaustion.

Franz and Nanette loved music, and they could play skilfully, but they
were all too young to be of service; and thus they lived cut off from
all outward influences befitting their age; loving music above
everything else, and yearning for the time when they could go out and
win for their father, as he had once done for them.

Years passed. Franz Hoffner was a tall, slight boy, and his father was
blind. Sitting at his cottage door he could no longer see the tall
towers of the old cathedral, but he could hear the chime of stately
bells--and his fingers played on: while Franz and Nanette not
unfrequently climbed up the winding stairs, just to beg Herr Von
Stein to let them touch the keys their father used to love.

[Illustration]

It happened one day the organist went out and left the key in the
lock. Franz entered with the evening worshippers. A nameless feeling
seized him. Urged on by the sudden impulse, he mounted the stairs. He
did not dream of playing, he only thought of the organ as his father's
friend; and to seat himself on the stool where his father had so often
sat was all he aimed to do. A moment, and he spied the key; would
there be any harm in raising the lid and playing himself? Herr Von