Mrs. Bürcke hated Spitz: the fact is, he once bit a hole in one of her great, round, mottled arms, which had thrust itself into the basket that Spitz carried for his masters provisions; for Mrs. B. was very anxious to know what there was under the napkin. In consequence, therefore, of this misunderstanding between her and the dog, whenever she saw the animal, it was Mrs. B.'s wicked custom to salute him with many foul words and curses, and to compass how to do him harm; for the Frau Hofmetzlerinn, as she was called in Krähwinkel, was a lady of great energy and perseverance, and nobody could ever accuse her of forgetting an injury. The little dog, as she sat meditating evil against him, came trotting down the road, entered as usual by the Bolkum-gate, turned to the right, and by the time Madame Bürcke had descended to the shop, there he was at the door, sure enough, and entered it wagging his tail. It was holiday Lent, and the butcher-boys were absent; Mr. Bürcke himself was abroad; there was not a single joint of meat in the shop, nor ought there to be at such a season, when all good men eat fish. But how was poor Spitz to know what the season was, or tell what his master himself had forgotten? He looked a little shy when he saw only Madame Bürcke in the shop, doubtless remembering his former disagreement with her; but a sense of duty at last prevailed with him, and he jumped up on his usual place on the counter, laid his basket down, whined, and began flapping the place on which he sat with his tail. Mrs. Bürcke advanced, and held out her great mottled arm rather fearfully; he growled, and made her start a little, but did her no harm. She took the paper out of the basket, and read what we have before imparted to the public, viz.:--"_Mr. Court Butcher, have the goodness to send per bearer a rixdollar's worth of best sausage meat_, NOT _pork.--Lorenz Tisch._" As she read, the dog wagged his tail more violently than ever. A horrible thought entered the bosom of Mrs. Bürcke, as she looked at the dog, and from the dog glanced at her husband's _cleaver_, that hung idling on the wall. "Sausages in Lent!" said Mrs. Bürcke: "sausages to be fetched by a dog for that heathen necromancer and that accursed Jew! He _shall_ have sausages with a vengeance." Mrs. Bürcke took down the cleaver, and * * * * * About twenty minutes afterwards Herr Lorenzo Tisch opened his garden gate, whither he had been summoned by the whining and scratching of his little faithful messenger. Spitz staggered in, laid the basket at his master's feet, licked his hand, and fell down. "Blesh us, dere'sh something red all along the road!" cried Mr. Abednego. "Pshaw! papa, never mind that, let's look at the sausages," said his daughter Rebecca--a sad gormandizer for so young a woman. Tisch opened the basket, staggered back, and turned quite sick.--In the basket which Spitz had carried so faithfully lay the poor little dog's OWN TAIL!