“Fritz,” he said, “there is Aunt Steiner and Pixy.”

“So it is Aunt Fanny,” cried Fritz, joyously; “Aunt Fanny, do you see us?  Pixy!  Pixy!”

Scarcely had the sound of the loved voice reached the dog, when he sprang forward, dragging the weak little woman, who was compelled to leap and bound over the grass at a pace which was, to say the least, unaccustomed.  She called, coaxed and upbraided by turns, but Pixy never halted in his race, nor looked back to see how she was faring, but was making with all speed for the balcony.  At length Mrs. Steiner could hold out no longer.  She dropped the line and sank into a seat on the lawn, and Pixy, released from his burden, sprang up the steps of the Council House where he was met by a watchman.

“What are you doing in here, you black Satan?” cried the surprised man as Pixy ran in.  “Out with you!  Out with you!”

But Pixy had seen the open door into the balcony, had spied his master, and ran to greet him with every evidence of delight.

“Whom does that black beast belong to?” asked the watchman, hurrying out.

“To me,” replied Fritz, “but—­”

“How dare you bring him in here?  Come out, both of you.”

Uncle Braun advised Fritz to pacify the angry man by telling how it happened that Pixy got in, but the watchman would not listen, so Fritz hurried out to his much-tried relative, followed by the others.

“Oh, Aunt Fanny, dear Aunt Fanny, I am so sorry that Pixy acted so badly,” he exclaimed.

“No, no; don’t blame Pixy for your own fault.  You should not have called him.  The affectionate creature was rejoiced to hear your voice.  You called him and he was glad to obey.”

“Yes, it was my fault.  I should have known what Pixy would do.”

“Oh, no one is to blame.  It was merely a mistake,” said Uncle Braun, joining in the conversation; “but you are all tired, especially the aunt, and you must ride home.”

He called a carriage, and before they could make objection they were helped in, with Pixy at their feet.

“Bornheimer street, number 37,” said Uncle Braun to the coachman as he put a coin in his hand, and they were off.

“Oh, how nice it is to live in a great city!” remarked Franz.  “In the country when any of the people wish to ride out, the horse must be brought up from the field and curried, the harness be put on, the carriage taken from the carriage-house, the whip and carriage robe gotten from their places, the horse put to the carriage, and then when the drive is over everything has to be put back in its place.”

“Yes, child, all one needs in a city in order to obtain these things is money; and Uncle Braun has certainly done us a favor to-day to add to his many kindnesses.  I really don’t know how I could have walked home, for my knees trembled and my back ached.  Never in my life did I take such long steps, and run and bound as I had to do while trying to keep back that black rascal.”