Boys Who Became Famous Men. Harriet Pearl Skinner

teaching and protection of Cimabue the renowned, he bared his head, waved his hand toward Florence, and said to the painter solemnly—

      "Take him, master, and teach him the cunning of your brush, the magic of your colors; tell him the secret of your art and the mystery of your fame, but let him not forget his home, nor his mountains, nor his God."

      And what became of the little Tuscan shepherd?

      He dwelt with Cimabue in the wonderful city of Florence, studying early, studying late; and by the time he had grown to manhood, he was known to be the greatest painter in all the world. Even his master turned to him for instruction, and picture-lovers journeyed from distant countries to see him and behold his works. He was encouraged by the church, honored by the court, loved by the poor; and in all Christendom no name was more truly revered than that of the painter, Giotto.

      FOOTNOTES:

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      [1] Giotto (pronounced Jótto).

      [2] Cimabue (pronounced Chím-a-boó-y).

THE VICTOR [BACH[3]]

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      Down the principal street of old Ohrdruf came a procession of boys singing a New Year's anthem. The cantor marched before them, wielding his baton high above his head, so that those following could watch its motions and keep in perfect accord. Behind him marched the singers, two by two. They carried neither book nor music sheet, but every eye was fixed steadily upon the silver-tipped baton, and forty voices rose in harmony so splendid and exact that passers-by stopped, listened, and turned to follow the procession down the street.

      The singers wore students' caps and gowns of black, and upon the breast of each shone an embroidered Maltese cross of gold, while below it appeared the crimson letters, S. M. C., which denoted that these were the choir-boys of St. Michael's Church.

      Marching into an open square, they formed a compact group about the cantor, and started a fresh and stirring hymn; and presently stepped forth the smallest boy of them all, who paused a pace or two in advance of the others, and took up the strain alone. Clear and sweet rang out his voice upon the frosty air, and listeners by the way turned to one another with nods and smiles of pleasure.

      "That's little Bach," announced one.

      "They say he is one of the best sopranos at St. Michael's," murmured another.

      The lad seemed quite unconscious of the impression he was making, for his manner was as unaffected as though he were singing only to the barren trees. His dark face was not noticeably handsome, but was very earnest; and a certain plaintive note in his voice appealed to the company with singular power, for while the carol falling from his lips was blithe indeed, the eyes of his hearers were wet. Fervently he hymned the New Year's joy, now trilling, trilling, like a rapturous bird at springtime; now softly crooning with the sound of a distant violin.

      When his solo ended, a round of applause and many bravos burst from his audience, but the boy stepped quickly back to his former place and finished the choral with the others.

      In the crowd of bystanders, a man wearing a coat and cap of rough gray fur smiled broadly when the people applauded little Bach.

      "Who is the boy?" inquired a stranger at his elbow.

      "He is Sebastian Bach and my brother," announced the fur-coated man. "I am the organist at St. Michael's, and he is one of the leading sopranos."

      "You should be proud of the child, for he sings remarkably well."

      "I am proud of him—ah, here come the collectors."

      The singing was done, and in and out among the bystanders went the boys, passing their wooden plates for pennies in exchange for their serenade.

      Nearly every one contributed something, for the people of Ohrdruf were genuine music-lovers, and they knew that the money gathered in this fashion would be divided equally among the boys, to use as they pleased.

      The choir broke ranks, having paraded and collected in all the streets of the town, and black-robed boys scurried away in every direction.

      "Are you bound for home now, Sebastian?" asked Georg Erdmann, the soloist's marching companion.

      "No," replied the other, "I am going to the church to practise."

      "Oh, little Bach is going to practise on the organ," exclaimed a woman who had overheard the boy's speech. "Come, sister, let's go in and listen while he plays."

      Whereupon the two matrons followed him across the square, and the fur-coated organist, who had lately seemed so gratified at Sebastian's success, scowled fiercely.

      "I wish that boy would stick to his singing, and let the organ alone," he muttered. "People tell me every day that if I don't look sharp my little brother will beat me at my own profession. He would make me a nice return for my kindness, if, after I have taken him into my house, fed him, clothed him, and taught him everything that he knows about music, he should try to outstrip me in my own work and shame me before my friends. I won't have it! I won't bear it! I'll admit that the boy is industrious and generally obedient, but I sha'n't let him impose on me, if he is of my own flesh and blood. Why should these people go to hear him practise? Why don't they drop in while I am playing? I am the organist, although people seem to forget the fact. I think I'll step over to the church and see what these people are going mad about."

      Into the shadowy edifice he stole, taking up his position behind the two women whose coming had so clearly annoyed him. The peal of the organ was filling the place from floor to dome, but though the women listened with eager attention, the face of Christoff Bach gradually softened.

      "He is playing his studies, just as I have taught him. Any boy who is willing to work could do as well. There is nothing remarkable in that performance. I needn't be worried for my position yet awhile."

      High in the organ-loft Sebastian practised faithfully, unaware of the presence of kindred or stranger. Page after page he rehearsed, sometimes repeating a difficult passage many times before leaving it.

      At length he removed the thick scroll from the rack, and replaced it with a second book of musical manuscript. Then the church re-echoed with sounds of a brilliant fugue.

      At the first note Christoff Bach started violently and his mouth fell open with astonishment. He strained forward to be sure that he heard aright, and as the inspiriting theme rolled through the vaulted spaces his eyes grew sinister and his hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug savagely into his palms.

      "My book," he gasped; "the music that I copied at Arnstadt for my own use! When did he decide to steal it, and undertake to learn my best selections? He can't keep to his own pieces, but must filch out mine during my absence, and fumble them on the organ so that my friends can laugh at me for being outdone by a ten-year-old. The braggart! I'd thrash him soundly if I hadn't promised father that I'd keep my hands off him; but I'll settle this business before I sleep. The upstart!"

      Raging inwardly, Christoff Bach stalked from the church; and half an hour later Sebastian quietly took his music bag under his arm and started homeward, conscious that he was very hungry, and that an appetizing New Year's dinner would be ready when he arrived.

      Sebastian Bach had lost both parents by death, and for nearly a year he had lived with his brother at Ohrdruf. Seldom does an orphan fall into such kindly hands, for Christoff had generously supplied the boy's needs,