Franz and Paul were ashamed of their treatment of the one to whom they were indebted for the visit to Mrs. Steiner and Frankfort, and hastened to assure him that no matter what trouble happened through Pixy’s fault they would make no word of complaint.

Pixy knew by the change of tone that peace had again spread its blessed wings over the “three-leaved clover,” and to show his approbation he fawned upon all three with impartial effusiveness.

“I am sorry that I said that he had no sense like city dogs that were running quietly along-side of wagons, but must try to jump on the car whenever it stopped,” said Paul penitently.

“Yes,” replied Fritz, throwing his arm around Pixy’s neck, “you were both glad when you saw that I was bringing him upon the journey, and now when he brings us into trouble we must not blame him for what he cannot help.”

“No, it would not be right to blame him for loving us, and wanting to be with us,” agreed Franz.

“Aunt Fanny will rejoice to see him, I know,” continued Fritz.  “No, I am not at all sorry I brought him, only I wish I had asked leave of papa and mamma.”

The mention of his aunt reminded the three that they had yet to find her house, and they were in consultation as to what way to go when a workman in a blue blouse came in sight and they asked the way to 37 Bornheimer street.

“Whom are you going to see there?” he asked.

“My Aunt Fanny Steiner.  She lives in the apartments on the third floor.”

“If you will give me fifty cents, I will take you there.”

The boys glanced at each other but were silent, and the man saw that he had struck too high.

“Well, then, suppose we say thirty pennies.  That will be ten each,” and to this they agreed and the caravan set out, Fritz leading Pixy by his cord.

The way led through several streets but at length they reached a retired street, and the leader halted before a neat dwelling with a flight of long winding steps leading up to a narrow porch and it was agreed among them that he should go up while the boys waited below.  In response to his knock, the door was opened by a small, elderly lady, who was informed that three boys and a dog waited below.

“I am not expecting anyone,” she said, stepping out upon the porch and looking down.

“Here we are, Aunt Fanny!” called Fritz.  “It is our holiday and we have come to visit you.”

“Come right up, dear,” exclaimed his aunt joyously; “but leave the dog below.  Dogs are not allowed in these apartments.”

“But, aunt, it is Pixy, that you take out walking every morning in summer, and always give him a lump of sugar when you visit us in the country.”

“Oh,” cried the perplexed aunt, “I did not recognize him, but come up, boys.  I am heartily glad to see you.”

“First give me my money,” said their guide, holding out his hand; the money was given, and the three and Pixy ran up the long steps, Fritz saying as he ran, “Come on, boys, we have found Aunt Steiner and she is glad to see us.”