“Well, what are you crying for?” replied Wolfgang, quickly, and with affectionate impulsiveness. “Do you think I would not share a piece of cake with you and let you drink out of my glass? Oh, no, I am not so mean as that! So don’t mind; and let us play a little while together, that the time may pass more quickly until noon.” “But what shall we play? It’s too cold to go out doors, Wolfgangerl,” said Andreas, appeased at once by the prospect of having some cake and wine. “Let us stay in and turn somersaults,” cried Wolfgang. “That’s great fun, if you don’t fall on your nose.” Andreas made no objection, and with loud and merry shouts of laughter the two little fellows ran about, turned somersaults, wrestled, and tumbled around on the sand-strewn floor, Wolfgang utterly forgetting that he was dressed in his best clothes. Their uproar rang through the house, and at last reached his mother’s ears. In alarm she hastened to ascertain the cause of the tumult. “Look at yourself, Wolfgangerl, you naughty child!” she exclaimed, as she entered the room and found the little fellows covered with dust and sand from head to foot. “What have you been doing? How you have soiled your clothes! What if your father should see you now! Oh, you bad, bad child!” Little Wolfgang stood amazed, and looked confusedly, now at his mother, now at the sorry figure he presented. Shame and sorrow struggled in his childish face, and at last tears rolled down his flushed cheeks. “Oh, darling mother,” he suddenly exclaimed, rushing to her with outstretched arms, “Oh, my darling mother, do not be angry! We have only turned a few somersaults, but we will not do it again. We will be real nice, only don’t be angry with me, dear mother.” The good woman could not resist the little one’s appeal. Displeasure vanished from her face, and she gently stroked her little son’s blond locks. “You are indeed a harum-scarum,” said she; “and see, your hair too is full of sand. Well, we will overlook it this time, but if you are naughty again to-day, you shall have neither cake nor wine.” “Oh, I will be good, perfectly good,” replied Wolfgang, stroking, pressing, and kissing his mother’s hand in a coaxing way. “Please forgive me, and be nice to me again.” The good mother bent over her little one and embraced him with maternal tenderness. Wolfgang was soothed and contented. Then his mother brushed him clean, put his hair and dress in order, and looked upon him with evident pride. “Now it is all right again,” she said, “but there must be no more foolishness, Wolfgangerl, or your father will be angry. Don’t you know that these fine clothes cost a good deal of money, and that your father has to work very hard to earn it? So you must be a good child, and see that you do not soil or spoil them. Will you not do so, naughty little one?”