walls enclose a
larger place, it is yet a cage. No, I will not stay. Hans Winkelsee
seeks the woods. There he was born, there he will die and be buried
under a shady oak tree.'"

The boys were so interested in the story that they did not realize that
it was past their supper hour, but Uncle Braun knew that they must be
hungry.

"We will go into a restaurant," he said, "and each of you can order
whatever you wish just so that the price does not exceed ten pennies for
each. That will buy enough to stay your hunger until you can reach home
to enjoy the good supper your aunt will have ready."

"Ten cents will get enough for us and leave a little over for Pixy,"
remarked Fritz.

"No, I will provide for Pixy. He, too, is my guest."

It was a new and pleasant experience to the boys to give an order in
A fine restaurant, and each chose ten cents' worth of cake, which they
pronounced delicious, and which with glasses of cool water refreshed
them greatly.

"Would it not be well to take your kind aunt some of the cake which you
like so well?" asked Uncle Braun.

"We should have thought of it ourselves," said Franz. "Paul and I will
buy twenty cents' worth and Fritz need not help because he has lost his
money."

"There was no need to remind him of his loss," rebuked Paul.

"There is no need to remind me, true enough," sighed Fritz, "for it is
never out of my mind. When I saw the fine houses I thought to myself
that it took gold-pieces like mine to build them. When I saw the tower
and heard the story of Winkelsee, I thought that I would not give my
gold-piece for his rifle and when I walk along the streets I think that
perhaps I may find a gold-piece like the one I lost."

"But, my dear boy," said Uncle Braun, "what would be your gain would be
someone's loss; perhaps it would be the only piece that a poor widow had
to pay rent or to buy bread for her children."

"I am ashamed that I wished to find one, but my gold-piece was so new
and bright."

"There is no need to be all the time grieving about what cannot be
helped," grumbled Franz.

"My boy," said Uncle Braun kindly, "do not censure him. It is a comfort
to speak to friends of what troubles us, and a pleasure to speak of what
interests us. I knew three young men in college who were very fond of
the pleasures of the table. What they had to eat, what they wished to
eat, and where they hoped to eat, seemed to be their only object in
life, and they spoke of it contin