The Toymaker family had sausage and sauerkraut and other good things for supper. They ate their supper beside a camp fire near their wagon. That is, Mr. and Mrs. Toymaker did. But Mitz and Fritz could not eat. No, even Mitz could touch nothing—not even sausage!

Mrs. Toymaker tried to comfort them, but it was hopeless. Fritz stared at the ground, and his heart ached. He thought he should never again play his violin. Mitzi sat with Frank's long nose on her lap and stroked the dog's floppy ears.

"Tomorrow," thought Mitzi, "the crowd will come to the park to hear Fritz play, and there will be no Fritz!"

Of course, Mitzi did not know that the music master would come, too. The kind music master would return. He would look for the little boy whose music had pleased him so much. He would wonder what had happened to the clever youngster whom he wanted to help. Mitzi did not know this. If she had known it, she would have been more unhappy than she already was.

The next morning passed much the same as the day before. Mr. Toymaker sold nothing at his booth in the market place.

At noon he said, "There is no use staying here any longer."

He closed up his booth, and they went back to the wagon. After lunch Mr. and Mrs. Toymaker sat upon the steps of their wagon. They talked and talked about what they were to do.

"We could go to some small town and settle down," said Mrs. Toymaker. "When winter comes, a wandering life will not be very pleasant. Mitz and Fritz should go to school. This gypsy life is not the best life for them."

Mr. Toymaker said, "That is quite true. Let us find a town where people are not spoiled by fine toys. There we shall settle and be content to live simply."

"I do wish—" began Mrs. Toymaker.

She had started to talk about Fritz. However, she knew that it made Mr. Toymaker angry. So she stopped.

They sat together for a long time. Mrs. Toymaker knitted. Mr. Toymaker smoked a pipe. Both were so full of serious thoughts that they did not wonder about Mitz and Fritz. They did not wonder why the children had not been there since noon. As the shadows grew longer and a little late breeze blew up, Mrs. Toymaker arose.

"I must prepare supper," she said. "I wonder where the children are."

She called, "Fritz! Mitz!" But there was no answer.

"What is that I see in the distance?" asked Mr. Toymaker.

He shaded his eyes with his hand. He looked in the direction of the setting sun. Mrs. Toymaker looked, too. Black forms were coming toward them. A crowd of people was drawing near, following some one who made music.

"Listen," said Mrs. Toymaker. "The notes of a violin!"

Mr. Toymaker stood up. The music, sweet and lively, came to them more clearly. Slowly the forms of the people grew more distinct as they drew closer.

"Why, it is a Pied Piper!" exclaimed Mrs. Toymaker. "It must be the joke of some children."

But all the time Mrs. Toymaker thought she knew who it was. She thought she knew that it was really—Yes, now there could be no doubt about it!

"It is Fritz!" cried Mrs. Toymaker. "It is our own little Fritz!"