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."
"But it was not Pixy's fault. You said so yourself, Auntie!"
"Yes, I did say it. It was your fault in calling 'Pixy! Pixy!'"
The moment the dog heard his name he sprang up, put his paws on her lap, and looked into her face with such an affectionate expression in his brown eyes, that she could not help patting his head and saying, "With it all, one cannot help loving you."
The carriage stopped at number 37, and Pixy sprang to the pavement, followed closely by the boys, who helped Mrs. Steiner out carefully, and with one on each side she went slowly up the long steps.
"Certainly such help is not to be despised," she said. "You are my gallant cavaliers."
She took out her key as she spoke and unlocked the door, and was surprised to see several letters which had been pushed under it during her absence.