and planting potatoes?

"He's a born farmer," said the father laughing.

But the mother turned away as though in pain. She would much, much
rather have seen her son's garden a mass of weeds than that he should
plant, weed and water so busily.

She had made him a present of some flowers; but they did not
interest him and he was not so successful with them either.
There was only a large sunflower that grew and grew. It was soon as
high as the boy, soon even higher, and he often stood in front of it,
his childish face raised, gazing earnestly into its golden disc for
quite a long time.

When the sunflower's golden petals withered--then its seeds ripened
instead and were examined every day and finally gathered--Wolfgang went
to school. He was already in his seventh year, and was big and strong;
why should he not learn with other children now?

His mother had thought how wonderful it would be to teach him the
rudiments herself, for when she was a young girl with nothing to do at
home and a great wish to continue her studies, she had gone to a
training college and even passed her examination as a teacher with
distinction; but--perhaps that was too long ago, for her strength was
not equal to the task. Especially her patience. He made so little
progress, was so exceedingly slow. Was the boy stupid? No, but dull,
very dull. And it often seemed to her as though she were facing a wall
when she spoke to him.

"You are much too eager," said her husband. But how on earth was she
to make it clear to him that that was an "A" and that an "O," and how
was she to explain to him that if you put one and one together it makes
two without getting eager? She became excited, she took the ball-frame
and counted the blue and red balls that looked like round beads on a
string for the boy. She got hot and red, almost hoarse, and would have
liked to cry with impatience and discouragement, when Woelfchen sat
looking at her with his large eyes without showing any interest, and
still did not know that one bead and one bead more make two beads after
they had worked at it for hours.

She saw to her sorrow that she would have to give up the
lessons. "He'll do better with a master," said her husband,
consolingly. And it was better, although it could not exactly be termed
"good."

Wolfgang was not lazy, but his thoughts were always wandering.
Learning did not interest him. He had other things to think about:
would the last leaves in the garden h