"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."