They soon reached the house and entered. They came at an opportune time, for an interesting spectacle greeted them. Little Wolfgang was seated at his father’s desk, writing upon a sheet of paper with such eagerness that he did not notice their entrance. The vice chapelmaster beckoned to the Count to approach nearer, and both looked over the boy’s shoulders. It was a singular looking paper. Half of it was covered with notes, and smudged over with blots, which in his haste he had wiped out with his hand, leaving dingy curves, resembling big and little comets, in the midst of which the notes looked like black stars. The little fellow kept on writing, not in the least minding when he jabbed his pen to the bottom of the inkstand and blotted his paper anew. He would coolly wipe it off with the palm of his hand as before, and go on writing until the paper was covered with notes and blots from top to bottom. All at once he jumped up and gleefully clapped his hands when he saw his father and the Count. His eyes shone with unusual lustre, his cheeks glowed, and he was evidently deeply excited. “What are you doing there, Wolfgangerl?” asked his father. “Have you been spoiling more paper with your scribbling?” “No, not spoiling it, dearest father,” replied the boy, flourishing the paper exultantly in the air. “See, I am writing a concerto[10] on it. The first part is all done. Look at it yourself.” “Yes, it must be fine stuff you have been scrawling, you silly little fellow,” said his father, laughing. He took the paper and at first only hastily glanced at it, but suddenly his gaze was riveted upon it, and the utmost astonishment was manifest in his countenance. At last he looked up and addressed the Count. “Truly, this is a correct concerto, Herr Count,” he said exultantly, while tears of delight and surprise stood in his eyes. “It is written in accordance with the rules of the art, only it is too difficult for any one to play.” “It is only a concerto,” replied little Wolfgang. “It must be practised some time before one can play it; but after all, it is not so difficult as you think. I will show you how it goes on the piano, papa.”[11] The little fellow, barely five years old, eagerly ran to the piano and began playing with enthusiasm. Of course he hesitated a little at first, and the more difficult passages did not go well at the first trial; but it was not long before he had it so completely in hand that the working up of the themes was clearly apparent. Father Mozart stood speechless with rapture. Count Herbenstein was overcome with astonishment, and both contemplated the boy with something like reverence. “Herr Vice Chapelmaster,” at last said Count Herbenstein, “I congratulate you from the bottom of my heart. If God spare your child’s life, he will one day be a great artist.”