erless to wrench it from the hand that held it.

"Let go!" cried Fritz, "Pixy is mine and you shall not have him."

"No, he is mine. I bought him to-day from a strange gentleman. Let go
the rope, or I will give you a blow upon the head that will keep you
from seeing and hearing for awhile."

A regular struggle now ensued. The big boy planted a blow on Fritz's
face which caused the blood to stream from his nose, but he held on to
the rope until knocked down; whereupon Franz and Paul ran behind the
boy, pulled him backward on the ground, the three jumped forward, and
two of them grasped his arms while the other sat upon his ankles; and
Pixy did his share by catching one leg of his pantaloons in his teeth
and holding fast.

Mrs. Steiner, in the meantime, was almost sick from fright; but summoned
strength to call "Help! Help!" and several men ran to separate the
combatants.

"Whose dog is it?" asked a gray-haired gentleman when he could
understand the fight enough to know that it was to obtain possession
of Pixy.

"It is mine!" sputtered the big boy, "and these three rascals are trying
to get it from me."

"It is mine!" cried Fritz; "we brought Pixy from the Odenwald. We came
to visit my Aunt Steiner. There she is."

"There comes a policeman," called a boy in the crowd that had gathered
around; and the big boy rushed away, disappearing around a corner, which
convinced all that he was not the owner of Pixy.

"I am glad that your boy got his dog. He fought a hard battle to recover
it," said one.

"Yes, and just see his face is all bruised and bleeding, and his nose
swollen, perhaps disfigured for life. And see his nice suit of clothes
all dusty, and a hole torn in his pants; and his stockings, even, have
blood upon them!"

And truly poor Fritz was a sorry looking object. His hat, thanks to the
monkey, did not add to his appearance. His aunt had intended stopping at
a store on their way home to get a new straw hat, but on account of his
battered appearance decided to wait until next day.

"But, Aunt Fanny!" said the logical Fritz, "I may look worse to-morrow
than I do to-day; and why should we care more for the people in the
store than on the street? Besides, the rim of the new straw hat will
hide the bruise on my forehead."

"That is true, Fritz, and I know of a fountain on our way home where you
can wash the blood from your face and hands and as much as we can off
your clothes, and with a new hat, you will l