Thus severely admonished, Wolfgang retired to a corner of the room with a sorrowful face. Nannie seated herself at the piano, and Father Mozart began the lesson. It had not continued long before Wolfgang became restless. He stole nearer and nearer, on tiptoe, until he was behind his father’s chair, where he listened intently to his words and instructions. There he remained until the lesson was over. Nannie left for the kitchen, to help her mother to get supper. Father Mozart began reading a book in his armchair. Wolfgang stood at the piano, thoughtfully looking at the keys. After a little, and apparently unconscious of what he was doing, he placed his hands on the keyboard and began striking thirds as he had just seen his sister do. At the sound of the instrument his countenance lit up, his eyes glowed, and utterly absorbed by the passion of music he forgot all else. Father Mozart at first paid no notice to his son’s playing. Gradually, however, as the tones grew fuller and stronger, he became attentive, laid aside the book he had been reading, and watched little Wolfgang with constantly increasing astonishment. He listened eagerly, and was more and more delighted when he found that Wolfgang repeated accurately and without a slip the little exercise which he had played over shortly before to Nannie. Tears of joy stood in his eyes. He arose, and going to Wolfgang, folded him in his arms and, overcome by his emotions, exclaimed: “Wolfgang, my heart’s own little one, surely, and beyond all question, you are already a true musician.” Then he called the mother and sister and told them the good news, and Wolfgang had to repeat the little pieces, which he did excellently. All were delighted. His mother embraced and kissed him, his sister joyfully clapped her hands, and his father looked on with beaming face. Little Wolfgang alone remained calm, and wondered that his playing caused such a commotion. “Why, that is nothing,” he said. “I have known all that from the first; but you will see, papa, that I shall soon know far more than this.” “God grant it. For my part, I have no further doubt of it,” said his father, deeply moved. “I will not fail to teach you all that I know.” Meanwhile bedtime had come, and little Wolfgang was tired. This time his father himself put him to bed, said the evening prayer as his mother was accustomed to do, and tucked him up nice and warm. It was hardly done before the little fellow was sound asleep, but Father Mozart knelt a while at the bedside, and raised his heart and soul to the Eternal Father in heaven. “Lord, my God,” he silently prayed. “Thou hast given me a rare and beautiful flower. Give me also strength and perseverance, that I may tend it and bring it to its perfect blossoming, for thy honor and my happiness.” God heard the prayer. It rose to His throne in heaven, found favor in His eyes, and was granted. Chapter III In the Wide World