s and pretzels filled the place. He bought a roll, and took a bite
while feeling in his pocket for his purse.

"Oh, it is gone!" he cried, turning pale with distress.

"Put your hand in your other pocket," said the saleswoman. "It may be
there."

This was quickly done, but it was not to be found.

"I don't believe you had any money," said the woman, angrily, "but took
that planning to get the roll without paying for it. I will call a
policeman."

"Oh, please don't!" cried the boy, with tears streaming down his cheeks,
"I will pay you when I see my aunt. She is Mrs. Fanny Steiner, number 37
Bornheimer street."

"Yes, now I believe that you are telling me the exact truth that you had
money and have lost it."

"No, I did not lose it; it was stolen from me by a man who warned me
against thieves."

"Then I should certainly call a policeman that you may have a chance of
getting your money by giving a description of the pick-pocket."

"Oh no, please don't call him. I am afraid of a policeman, and don't
want to see one."

"But why? That is foolish of you. They are our protectors. Only bad
boys need fear them; honest people are glad to call upon them in
trouble."

"There comes Franz and Paul out of the clothing store," and he ran to
the door and called them, and they came across the street and into the
bakery.

"What are you crying about?" asked Franz. "Have the street boys been
fighting you while we were in the store?"

"No, I wish it had been the rude, ill-mannered rabble instead of the
polite, kind-appearing gentleman who was a thief and stole my money. I
am so ashamed that I was deceived by his pleasant words. Besides, I have
bought a roll and cannot pay for it."

"Oh, that is all right!" said his companions, taking out their
pocketbooks. "Here is your money for it, lady, and we will each buy a
roll."

"Come, Fritz," said Paul as he took a bite out of his roll, "eat your
roll and come with us. It is no use to stay here."

"Oh, my hunger is gone, and how can I forget my loss when I need my
money every day?"

"But what is the use of fretting over it?" said Franz, impatiently.
"The money is gone, and crying will not bring it back, so you may as
well make the best of it."

"Yes, Franz, it is easy for you to talk that way when you have your
money in your pocket. But mine is gone. Even the few nickels that were
in my vest pocket were taken by the miserable thief," and tears streamed
from the boy's eyes.