Wilhelm seated himself at the piano-forte, and played some of his
own compositions. "That is difficult," said he; "every one cannot
play that."

"The simpler the sweeter!" replied Otto.

"You must not speak about music!" returned the friend "upon that
you know not how to pass judgment. Light Italian operas are not
difficult to write."

In the evening the friends separated. Whilst Otto took his hat,
there was a low knock at the door. Wilhelm opened it. Without stood
a poor old woman, with pale sharp features; by the hand she led a
little boy--it was Jonas: thus then it was a visit from him and his
grandmother.

The other boys had sold the boots and shoes which had been given
him. They ought to have a share, they maintained. This atrocious
injustice had induced the old grandmother to go immediately with
little Jonas to the two good gentlemen, and relate how little the
poor lad had received of flint which they had assigned to him
alone.

Wilhelm spoke of the boy's sweet voice, and thought that by might
make his fortune at the theatre; but then he ought not now to be
left running about with bare feet in the wind and rain.

"But by this means he brings a skilling home," said the old woman.
"That's what his father and mother look to, and the skilling they
can always employ. Nevertheless she had herself already thought of