One of the great fairs of the year was now going on in Leipzig. The Toymakers drove by the railway station, the largest in Europe. Many people were hurrying in and out. They passed the church where Johann Sebastian Bach used to sing.

All manner of peddlers swarmed the streets. The children opened their eyes wide at sight of one man entirely covered by clocks. He was a clock peddler from the Black Forest. Traders from all over the country were in Leipzig with their wares. Buyers from every place were at the fair to buy.

"See, children," said Mrs. Toymaker. "There is a statue of Mendelssohn, the little boy who used to lead an orchestra. When he grew up, he led his orchestra in that building."

Leipzig is a city of books. Everyone seems to be reading. They read even as they stroll along the streets.

Mr. Toymaker immediately set out to find his friend, Mr. Krauss, the bookseller. But he could not find his friend.

The first day at the market place was very dismal. Nobody paid any attention to Mr. Toymaker's wares. There were too many beautiful toys to be seen.

"It is the same here as it was in Nuremberg," said Mrs. Toymaker.

Her sweet face was sad. "Oh, what are we to do?" the poor lady was thinking.

But Mitzi knew what to do. Tomorrow she and Fritz intended to slip away from their booth in the market place. Today their father needed them there to help.

Mr. Toymaker had displayed his prettiest toys: brightly colored soldiers, flaxen-haired dolls, and animals with big, staring-eyes. Yet even children did not stop. At a shop across the square were dolls that talked and walked, engines that sped along tracks, airplanes that flew, and doll houses with electric lights in them and elevators and running water. Is it any wonder that Mr. Toymaker's carved toys did not attract people?

"Run back to the wagon and make some coffee," said Mrs. Toymaker to Mitz and Fritz. "Father and I will stay here a little longer. When we get home we shall have supper."

"But there is nothing to eat in the wagon," said Mitzi.

Mrs. Toymaker looked at her husband. Mr. Toymaker turned to Mitzi.

"Obey your mother," he said. "Go home and make coffee. When we come, we shall bring food with us."

Mitz and Fritz and Frank went slowly back to the wagon.

"I do not understand how Father can bring food," said Mitzi. "There is certainly no money with which to buy it."

"Tomorrow there will be money," smiled Fritz.

"Yes," agreed Mitzi. "Because of your concert. And Father must be there to see." Suddenly she cried, "Oh, careful, you donkey! You are splashing in mud puddles. You are getting your feet all wet!"

But Fritz did not care. He was dreaming. He liked mud puddles because he was a boy. He liked dreams because he was an artist.

When they reached their wagon home, Mitzi put the coffee on the stove. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Toymaker arrived. Their arms were full of bundles.

"See what a nice supper we are to have," said Mrs. Toymaker.

She was smiling, but Mitzi noticed that there were tears in her blue eyes. Mitzi noticed something else besides the tears.

"Mother!" she cried. "Where is your pretty blue necklace?"

Mrs. Toymaker had always worn a string of sparkling blue beads. They were quite valuable and were her only piece of jewelry. She had loved them because Mr. Toymaker had given them to her before Mitz and Fritz were born.

Mrs. Toymaker did not answer Mitzi. She began to untie the bundles.

"See," she said. "Black bread and milk!"

"But, Mother," insisted Mitzi, "where is your necklace? Have you lost it?"

Mrs. Toymaker saw the terror in Mitzi's eyes. That necklace had seemed to the little girl the finest and prettiest in all the world. Her mother was not her mother without it.

Mrs. Toymaker did not know what to say. She drew Mitzi close and kissed her.

But Mr. Toymaker said, "Enough of this, Mitzi. Go and help prepare the supper. You are too curious!"

"But, Father—" began Mitzi.

"Very well, then," said Mr. Toymaker. "I shall tell you. We sold the necklace so that we could buy food. Now, are you satisfied?"

Mr. Toymaker's voice sounded cross. But his face looked very worried.

"Oh, the beautiful necklace!" cried Mitzi.

Mr. Toymaker untied a package.

"Oh, the beautiful cheese!" he sniffed.

He was trying to make the best of things. He was trying to be jolly—poor Mr. Toymaker!

"One cannot grieve about neck decorations," he said, "when the stomach cries out to be decorated!"