“Yes, certainly I will, for I love my father so dearly that I would not do anything to trouble him for all the world,” the boy replied, and in such a tone of sincerity that his mother was satisfied. “Well, now, I will leave you alone again,” said she; “but what will you do next, if you are not going to turn somersaults any more?” “Oh, I know, dear mother,” he at once replied; “we will play soldiers, and tramp around the room, and I will play a nice march.” “Oh, I know your march will be fine,” said Frau Mozart, smiling. “I wish I could hear it.” “You can, right off,” replied the little fellow. “Attention, Andreas! In position—so—now, forward march.” Andreas obeyed. Wolfgang stationed himself by his side, held both hands to his mouth as if he had a trumpet in them, and then began playing, or rather singing, a charming march, in such correct time that his mother was completely surprised. The two children marched exultantly around the room, as well satisfied as if all the world were watching them. “It’s all right now,” at last said his mother. “Now, after this, be good children, and each of you shall have a big piece of the birthday cake.” With these words she graciously nodded to the children and went away. Wolfgang and Andreas marched and trumpeted for some time. At last Wolfgang’s voice gave out and Andreas complained that his legs were tired. “This is enough for now,” he said to Wolfgang, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I can’t march any longer, it is so warm.” “Then we will play schoolmaster,” said Wolfgang in great glee. “You sit there on the stool, for you are the pupil and I am the teacher. Now pay attention, for I am going to give you some examples on the blackboard. There is some chalk in the drawer.” While Andreas comfortably seated himself, Wolfgang took a big piece of chalk and began scribbling upon the floor and walls as earnestly as if he really were executing a task of the utmost importance. They were not actual figures, for he did not yet know how to make them, but rather meaningless hieroglyphics, which soon made the polished boards and the walls of the room look as if a dozen white-footed crows had been hopping over them. “Wolfgang, you naughty boy, what nonsense is this?” suddenly exclaimed a childish voice. Nannie, Wolfgang’s sister, stood in the doorway, regarding with astonishment the disfigured boards and walls. “Why, what is the matter, Nannerl? We are only playing school, and having some lessons in arithmetic,” replied Wolfgang, looking at his sister in the most innocent manner and with an expression of absolute delight. “Yes, but you entirely forget that mother and I have been toiling since early this morning to get things clean and in good order,” said Nannie, beginning to cry. “Now we must begin all over again, and there is no one more to blame for it than you. You are a naughty, naughty child. Go away; I do not wish to see you any more.”