“That is enough, my boy.  Is this it?” and he held upon a red leather pocketbook.

“No, mine is the same shape, but smaller.”

“Is this it?” holding up another.

“Yes!” cried the boy joyously and reached for it.

“First tell me what is in it.”

It was no trouble for Fritz to enumerate the coin; he had done it too often to forget.

“The pocketbook is yours, my little man.  Tell me, do you recognize this photograph?”

“Yes, it is he; the very one, only his overcoat was not buttoned when he robbed me.”

“Exactly.  We know our man and he is now behind iron bars.  When your aunt came here and gave the information, I sent one of my detectives to a public house where these rascals congregate; and, sure enough, there was your fine gentleman partaking of a good dinner washed down by a bottle of good wine at your expense.  Your gold-piece is safe and one of the dollars.  He used the other and the small change for his refreshments.  Here, take your pocketbook, and I wish to say that there are not many grown people who could observe and describe so well the thief who robbed them.”

“I will not trust anybody again as I did that smooth-talking stranger.  I will be on the lookout all the time for thieves.”

“Oh, my boy, do not let this affair make you suspicious of your fellow-creatures, or you will never have a peaceful hour upon earth.  Of course, we should not trust entire strangers too much, and should carry our money in a secure place.  The safest is a pocket on the inside of your vest, a thief could not well get his hand in there.  And now let us shake hands in farewell, and may you have a pleasant visit to Frankfort!”

The boy left the office in splendid spirits, for he felt richer than when he first owned the pocketbook and the gold-piece, for he had it again, when he thought it was gone forever.  The policeman took him in sight of number 37, and he ran the rest of the way alone.  He saw his aunt on the porch waiting for him.

“Aunt Fanny, dear Aunt Fanny, I have my gold-piece and my pocketbook,” and he held it up in glee.

“Oh, my boy, had we Pixy back, that would be a greater joy,” said Mrs. Steiner.

“My Pixy!” cried the boy.  “Isn’t he in the house?”

“No, my poor boy, and I have no idea where he is.  After you left, the affectionate creature was so lost without you that I could not quiet his restlessness.  Franz and Paul had gone out to walk around the square, and left the door open a little way and while I was in the kitchen to see if the bread was ready to put in the oven Pixy slipped out.  I saw him disappear, and ran after him as fast as my feet would carry me, but he escaped.”

Fritz broke into bitter weeping and his aunt wept with him for she had no comfort to offer, and when Franz and Paul came they, too, were deeply worried over the loss, for they blamed themselves that they did not see that the door was latched.