"Yes," said Mitzi. "In every town. The people would have thrown him so much money that he could have bought all the bread and sausage and—"
Fritz laughed at Mitzi's wide eyes.
"Well, but what has that to do with our helping Father?" he asked.
"Don't you see?" she replied. "You shall play on the streets, and people will throw coins. Then, even if Father cannot sell toys, we shall still have money with which to buy food."
"Oh, Mitz!" said Fritz.
"Oh, whist!" cried Mitzi impatiently. "I am going to make you do it! You'll see how easy it will be."
"But Father will not let me do it," said Fritz. "He does not like my fiddling. He would punish me."
"We won't tell him," said Mitzi. "He only forbade you to play when he puts you to work. Other times, it is not wrong for you to do it. So, when Father is selling toys in the next market place, we'll run off. You shall play your violin, and pretty soon crowds of people will gather and—"
"Oh, Mi—" began Fritz.