"Indeed! Then if your dog has such keen scent as to reach to England, perhaps he will go a step farther and tell us whether the old man in the moon smokes cigars or a pipe."

"But I am telling you the truth!" insisted Fritz.

The old gentleman paid no attention to him, but, taking up his paper, commenced reading attentively.

"Fritz, you ought to tell him how Pixy earned the money and found the cousin," whispered Paul.

"No, he won't listen," replied Fritz. And he was right; the old gentleman believed that the boy was treating him with disrespect by telling him such a wild story.

When the train reached Umstadt, and the boys came in sight of the Swan inn, they saw the landlord on the stone steps, his thumbs in his vest pockets and his fingers moving as if playing the piano.

"So, here you are again!" he exclaimed heartily. "Did you get homesick?"

"No, but school begins on Wednesday, and we wished to be on time."

"That was sensible. How did your dog act in that ant-hill, Frankfort?"

"He did well. He earned five hundred marks."

"Five hundred marks! Did he perform tricks in a circus? Of course, we know that he is a cute dog. Of course you have plenty of nickels now, and if you had sent on your order for dinner, you could have had spring chicken, peas, early apples, and other good things."

"Pixy did not perform in a circus, but he found a pocketbook belonging to an English gentleman. It had valuable papers in it, and English money, beside five hundred marks of German money."

"And that you kept."

"No, no! Please don't think so meanly of us."

"That is what I understood by what you said."

"No; let me tell you how it was. The gentleman who owned the pocketbook gave it to my father for the poor children's home in our neighborhood."

"Well, now I call that generous; and I am glad to know that we have such people in the world. If you are ready for dinner, come right to the table and take seats."

The boys were glad that they did not have to wait, and followed the broad-shouldered man to the dining-room. The landlady was already at the table, as were Letta and Peter, and all welcomed the young travelers cordially.

The soup was finished and the boys looked toward the kitchen door, wondering what substantials would be forthcoming. They had not long to wait, for the cook appeared with a veritable Chimborazo of an apple-dumpling mountain, piled tier upon tier; and there had to be a scattering of dishes to make place for the platter. The three Grecian heroes gave glances of approval and satisfaction. They had a special fondness for apple-dumplings, and approved of the size of each, calculating that there would be enough for all, no matter how insatiable the appet.i.tes. They took their forks in hand as a warrior would his spear, and the landlady had the gratification of seeing that city delicacies had not depreciated her humble country food in the opinion of the three.

After they had paid the cook the compliment of eating to the limit of possibility, and had laid down their forks preparatory to leaving the table the landlord gave them a bit of excellent advice.

"Boys," he said, "did you ever hear this rule for keeping in good health?"

'After breakfast work and toil; After dinner rest awhile; After supper walk a mile.'

"I would advise that you do not set out upon your journey so soon after eating, but rest at least half an hour, and for that purpose we will go to the reception-room, where there are comfortable chairs."

As soon as they were seated, and the landlady had taken her knitting, she asked if they had learned anything new in Frankfort.

"Yes," said Fritz, eagerly; "we learned to make coffee, and to cook potatoes and other things. My aunt let us help her."

"That was good; people ought to learn everything that comes in their way. Now tell us what you saw in Frankfort."

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 Sat.u.r.day 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 gra.s.s, giving one of his low growls, a sign of warning. The boys halted, for at that moment three rough heads were raised from the gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s 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.

"Slide!" echoed Paul. "How can we slide when it is summer and no ice?"

"Oh, you greenhorns," laughed the boy. "You do not know that 'slide'

means a holiday."

"We have been on our holiday, and are on our way home to go to school."

"School! I should run away from that instead of running to it," remarked the blacksmith, "no one there learns how to use the hammer and anvil to make a horse-shoe."