He knew that she wished a canary-bird, and went into a store to see how much one would cost.  To his surprise and delight, he found that he could buy a singer and a cage for two marks, and he purchased both.

“Is there no one else that you would take a present to?” asked the shop-keeper.

“Yes, I would like to take a present to my baby brother, and something to my mother.”

“What would you like?”

“A tin trumpet to my brother, but I don’t know what my mother would like.”

“There is a nice trumpet, and here is a tin grater.  I think she would like it.”

“Yes, and I will take it, if it and the trumpet do not cost too much.  I must have enough money left for my journey home.”

It was found by counting that he would have enough without disturbing his beloved gold-piece, and the shop-keeper strapped the three articles on his back, drawing the grater around to his side, and the happy Fritz set out for the depot, when a street urchin slipped up behind him and blew a shrill blast upon the trumpet.  Fritz turned quickly and at that moment he heard a call, “Pixy!  Pixy!” and the dog turned joyously and looked back at a tall policeman who laid his hand upon the shoulder of Fritz.

“How did you come by this dog?” he enquired, sternly.

“It belonged to my father and he gave it to me.  He has no tag or muzzle because I am only visiting in Frankfort.”

“I am not asking about muzzle or tag, but wish to know if the dog’s name is Pixy.”

“Yes, his name is Pixy.”

“Now listen.  A black dog of that name was stolen yesterday; and the lady from whom it was stolen not only put the case in the hands of the police, but put an advertisement in the paper, giving an exact description of the dog.”

“Yes, this is the dog,” assured Fritz.  “He first ran away, then was stolen by a man.”

“And the man gave him to you to take away.  Is that it?”

“No.  Franz and Paul and I had a hard fight to get him; and I am taking him to the depot to go to Odenwald.”

“What is you name?”

“Fritz Heil.”

“And that of your father?”

“His name is also Fritz.”

“So you say that the dog belongs to Fritz Heil, yet it was the Widow Steiner who put the case in the hands of the police.  How does that story agree with yours?”

Fritz was so bewildered and frightened that he stammered over his explanation.  “Yes—­no.  It did run away—­Yes, it was stolen; I was there, but I am going away.”

“You were where?”

“At my Aunt Steiner’s.”

“Does she know that you are going away?”

“No, I did not tell her.  Yes, I did in my letter.”

“That is a beautiful story!  Now I know that you are taking her dog away without her knowledge.”

“No; she knows it,” howled Fritz.

“Yes, but all the world knows how cunning dog thieves are in Frankfort.  You come with me that we may learn the straight story of how you got this dog.”