My father was organist at the principal church, and I had long been accustomed to accompany him every Sunday, and sit with him in the organ loft, watching his manipulation of the pedals and listening with delight to his improvisations. I now asked him, timidly at first, to allow me to replace him when simple chorales had to be accompanied. He granted this, sitting by my side to guard against any blunders which might have disturbed the congregation.