Nothing could have been pleasanter to the triplets than to live over again those hours of sight-seeing, and all three helped tell of their visit.

“Now listen to this,” said the landlord, who had picked up a Frankfort paper: 

“An Englishman lost his pocketbook on Saturday evening in the grounds of the Forest-house, in the suburbs of Frankfort.  It contained valuable papers and money, and was found by a young man named Pixy from the Odenwald country, and delivered to the owner.”

The landlord and his wife laughed at the mistake of the reporter until tears stood in their eyes; and then the three boys repeated the story again, and told of the English cousin, and of Uncle Braun, and ended by saying that they felt that they knew everybody and every place in Frankfort.

When they put on their knapsacks to depart, each took out his purse to pay their bill.

“Oh, no, boys,” said the landlord, “I cannot take pay for your very plain dinner.  You were our guests and were not the least trouble.”

“Oh, thank you! thank you!” they said in concert, and Paul voiced the opinion of all, when he said that had they ordered it, they could not have gotten anything they would have enjoyed more.

The three then took generous tips from their purses, and put the money in the hand of their host.

“Will you please give this to Letta and Peter?” they asked.

“Certainly, certainly! and I thank you in their names for it.  And now, boys, you will have to walk several miles to reach the little village where Fritz’s father said you would stay over night on your way home.”

“Did you see father?” asked the boy in surprise.

“Certainly!  He would not think of going to Frankfort without stopping to see me.”

They shook hands with the innkeeper and his wife, who invited them to come to see them the next time they went to Frankfort, and then took their departure for the Odenwald.

CHAPTER XI

IN THE DESERTED CABIN

They walked along chatting until they were several miles from Umstadt, when Pixy stopped and looked intently toward a thicket of tall grass, giving one of his low growls, a sign of warning.  The boys halted, for at that moment three rough heads were raised from the grass and three pairs of eyes were gazing intently at the travelers from three faces, which were not only dark but not entirely clean.  The three were about seventeen years of age, and were apprentices of mechanics out upon a week’s vacation.  One was learning to be a butcher, another a blacksmith, and the third a basket maker.  They had been walking all the morning and had lain down in the cool, tall grass to rest and sleep.  They were rough-looking boys, and the triplets were rather sorry that Pixy’s growl had caused them to rise and look about them.

“So you are three school boys out on your slide!” exclaimed the blacksmith, eyeing them curiously.