"Perhaps so. We will see what Mrs. Steiner says about it," and the tall policeman set out for 37 Bornheimer street, followed by the weeping Fritz, and a motley crowd of onlookers.
"He has been stealing tinware," commented one of them. "While he was about it he might as well have taken silver or something worth while."
"Poor boy, he has not been trained right by his parents," remarked a woman standing in the door of her bakery. "People who take no care of their children but let them run the streets must expect arrests."
This remark was so trying to Fritz that he halted to set the woman right in regard to his parents, but the policeman bade him hurry along, and they soon reached 37, where the returned ones were still upon the porch. Mrs. Steiner was weeping, and Mr. Heil and the boys were anxious, believing that Fritz had lost his way in going to the depot and was wandering about the streets.
"Look, brother!" exclaimed Mrs. Steiner, eagerly; "look at that crowd coming up the street following a policeman. Among them is a black dog. Yes, it is Fritz and Pixy, and with them a policeman! What can be the matter now?"
Fritz had one arm over his eyes, trying to hide his tears but looked out when his captor told him that they had reached his aunt's home and there were people on the porch.
"Oh, it is father! dear, dear father!" exclaimed Fritz in delight, and running up the steps he was clasped in the arms of his relieved parent.
But the boy's joy was no greater than that of the dog, for Pixy danced and pranced about his master, jumped upon him and tried to lick his face and hands.
"It is of no use for me to ask to whom the dog belongs," remarked the policeman as he reached the group upon the porch. "The dog tells me that the boy has told the exact truth."
"See, Mr. Policeman, the dog does belong to papa and me, and not to Aunt
Steiner," exclaimed Fritz, jubilantly.