The story of a woolly dog
Date: 2023-11-05T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Stuffed animals (Toys) -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: The story of a woolly dog

Author: Laura Lee Hope

Illustrator: Harry L. Smith

Release date: November 5, 2023 [eBook #72039]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1923

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/72039

Credits: Bob Taylor, David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by the University of Florida Digital Collections.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A WOOLLY DOG ***

THE STORY OF A
WOOLLY DOG

“Now, I’m All Right,” Laughed the Clown.

The Story of a Woolly Dog.

Frontispiece—(Page 19)

MAKE BELIEVE STORIES
(Trade Mark Registered)

THE STORY OF A
WOOLLY DOG

BY
LAURA LEE HOPE

Author of “The Story of a Sawdust Doll,” “The Story
of a Stuffed Elephant,” “The Bobbsey Twins
Series,” “The Six Little Bunker Series,”
“The Bunny Brown Series,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRY L. SMITH

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1923, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP

The Story of a Woolly Dog

CONTENTS

CHAPTER | | PAGE
I | Poor Toys | 1
II | A Rich Man | 13
III | The Woolly Dog’s New Home | 25
IV | What Little Jane Did | 37
V | A Lost Diamond | 49
VI | The China Cat | 64
VII | In the Beehive | 76
VIII | Riding Down Hill | 86
IX | The Lost is Found | 97
X | A Strange Discovery | 109

THE STORY OF A
WOOLLY DOG

CHAPTER I
POOR TOYS

“Well, he certainly is the finest toy in my little shop, but what good does that do if I can’t sell him? His wool is very soft, and he looks so natural that I can almost hear him bark. But, oh dear! if I don’t sell him—or sell some of the toys soon—I can’t pay my rent and I’ll be turned out! Oh, if my boy Jimmie would only come home from the sea with the gold he said he’d bring to me!”

A sad-faced, poor, little, old lady moved slowly about a poor little store on a side street. In the small show window were a few notions—pins, needles and thread, and a few toys.

On a shelf near the window were other toys. But they were a very poor and cheap lot, made to sell to poor children who had only a few pennies. There were dolls that cost five cents—dolls with only a thin little calico dress on, and nothing else. There were jumping jacks that could be had for as little as three pennies, and there were two-cent tops and one-cent marbles.

“The Woolly Dog is the best toy of all,” went on Mrs. Clark, who kept the little store. “The agent said I could sell him for a good sum and make money on him. Certainly he is a fine toy and I did not have to pay very much, and, since I gave him a bath and cleaned him, he looks good enough to be in a rich store.

“But, oh dear! I don’t know! If I don’t sell something soon I don’t know where I’m going to make up the rent money! Oh, this is a hard world!”

Poor Mrs. Clark sat down on a stool behind the counter and waited for customers to come in. But there was little buying that day. Christmas had passed, and though she had done pretty well in trade around the holidays, now but few children, or grown-ups, either, came in to spend their money. Perhaps they had spent it all for Christmas gifts.

“If I could only sell the Woolly Dog!” sighed Mrs. Clark again, and she wiped some tears from her eyes, for she was very sad and in trouble.

“I wish I could help her,” thought the Woolly Dog to himself. He did not dare speak out loud, though he could talk in toy language when no real persons were near by. “Yes, I wish I could help her, but I can’t go out and sell myself, or I would. This isn’t the kind of a store where rich customers will come.”

The Woolly Dog looked around at the poor toys on the same shelf with him. He was the most expensive of the lot.

As Mrs. Clark had said, some time ago, when she bought her little stock of toys from an agent, he had offered her this Woolly Dog.

“It’s a sample, Mrs. Clark,” said the man. “I have carried him around in my satchel for a long time, and his white wool is rather dirty. But he isn’t broken, and if you were to wash him with soap and water he’d be as clean as a whistle.”

“Speaking of whistles,” said Mrs. Clark, “the last ones I got from you didn’t whistle loud enough, some boys said. They brought them back and I had to return them their pennies.”

“Well, I have some louder whistles now,” went on the agent. “And I’ll allow you for the ones that didn’t sell. But what about this Woolly Dog? I’ll let you have him cheap. You can wash him, put him in the window, and I’m sure you’ll sell him. You should ask a good price, too, for this is one of the most expensive toys on the market.”

“All right, I’ll take him,” said Mrs. Clark.

And so she had bought the Woolly Dog. She had washed him, putting him right into a tub with soap and warm water.

“Oh, that was a terrible time for me!” said the Woolly Dog, telling of it afterward to his friend, the three-cent Jumping Jack. “I surely thought I would drown, and the soap got in my eyes! Burr-r-r-r!”

“If that had happened to me all my paint would have washed off,” said the three-cent Jumping Jack, one of the very cheapest of the poor toys.

You see the toys could talk among themselves when no children or grown-ups were there to listen.

“Well, I felt dreadfully about it for a while,” went on the Woolly Dog. “But after Mrs. Clark had washed me nicely she put me in the warm sun and I dried out.”

“You are quite white and fluffy now,” said the Jumping Jack.

“Yes, I believe I am considered a very good sort of toy,” admitted the Woolly Dog, trying not to speak proudly. “I am made of real lamb’s wool, you know.”

“I can see that,” put in a Calico-Dressed Doll, who sold for five cents—very little for a doll, I’m sure. “It is very nice of you to stay here among such poor toys as we are,” went on the Doll.

“Oh, I think it is quite jolly here!” barked the Woolly Dog. “It’s such a cute little store, you know!”

“But Mrs. Clark does hardly any business,” said the Jumping Jack. “I was one of the lot of a dozen she bought from the agent, and there are eight of us left. She’ll never get rich selling toys, I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid not,” agreed the Woolly Dog. “But if she could sell me and get the price I ought to bring, she would have several dollars. I ought to be sold for five dollars, but I heard the agent say she could let me go for three.”

“Three dollars! Think of that!” exclaimed the Calico-Dressed Doll. “That’s almost a million, isn’t it?”

“Almost, but not quite,” answered the Woolly Dog, and again he did not speak proudly as some toys might have done.

So it had come about that the Woolly Dog was among the poor toys in Mrs. Clark’s little store—the best toy of all, it might be said of the Woolly Dog. Mrs. Clark knew this, and she hoped the Woolly Dog would soon sell, so she might get enough money to make up the full amount for the rent, which must be paid in a day or two.

“I need just that three dollars the Woolly Dog would bring,” sighed the poor old lady. “Or if my son Jimmie would come home, he would pay the rent.”

But Jimmie was a sailor lad and at this time was far away, on a sort of treasure hunt. He hoped to come back with gold to give his mother, and he had written some letters in which he said he might be home almost any day now.

“But my eyes are weary watching for him,” sighed Mrs. Clark.

She moved about her store, looking at the few things she had to sell. After her husband had died she had started the store. For a time she did fairly well, but times grew hard and she lived in a poor neighborhood, where few people had money to spend on toys. They bought needles, thread and pins of Mrs. Clark, but there is not much money to be had selling these.

“I think I’ll put the Woolly Dog back in the window,” said Mrs. Clark to herself, after dusting her store for the day. “He will be seen better there, but I don’t like to keep him in the window too long, for the sun might take the curl out of his wool. But I’ll put him there this afternoon and leave him there to-morrow. Maybe someone will see him and buy him. True, I’ve had him in the window before and no one even came in to ask how much he would cost. But I’ll try it again.”

The Woolly Dog was glad to hear Mrs. Clark say this, for he liked being in the show window. There was more to be seen from the window—he could watch the children playing in the street and hear their laughter.

Of course he liked being on the shelf with the other toys, but he felt, deep down inside him, that it would be best for him to be sold so Mrs. Clark could get the money for her rent.

“Into the window you go, my friend!” said the storekeeper lady, as she patted the Woolly Dog to get out of his coat any dust that might make him look dingy. “Into the window you go, and may someone buy you!”

Not long after the Dog had been placed in the window with the needles, pins and spools of thread, a boy and a girl pressed their little noses up against the glass, making them look quite flat.

“Oh, see the new dog in the window!” cried the girl.

“’Tisn’t a new dog. I’ve seen him before,” said the boy.

“Well, he looks new to me,” went on the girl. “I wonder how much he costs.”

“I guess more’n a dollar, Lizzie.”

“Oh, he couldn’t!” gasped the little girl. “No toy could cost that much—not ever, Sammie!”

“Pooh! You just ought to see some of the toys in the stores on Main Street!” replied Sammie. “Why, I’ve seen price tickets on ’em marked—ten dollars!”

“Oh, Sammie! No!”

“Yes, I have! Say, rich people don’t care what they spend for toys!”

“Oh, it must be lovely to be rich,” sighed Lizzie. “But, anyhow, we can wish we had this Woolly Dog.”

“A lot of good that will do!” muttered Sammie. “Come on, we have to go to the store for half a pound of sugar. We haven’t any money for toys.”

“No, I s’pose not,” sighed his sister. “Good-bye, Woolly Dog!” she called back to the toy in the window, waving her hand.

The afternoon passed. Though many children of the neighborhood looked in Mrs. Clark’s window—some of the boys and girls wishing they might buy the Woolly Dog—no one purchased the expensive toy.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Mrs. Clark, when night came and she had to close her store without having sold the Woolly Dog. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t get the rent money!”

With the coming of night a change took place among the toys. When the store window curtain was pulled down, the doors closed and when Mrs. Clark had gone to bed, wishing she might dream of her son, there was a movement among the Dolls, the Jumping Jacks and the Wooden Animals in the cheap Noah’s Arks.

“I say, Woolly Dog!” called a voice, “are you ready for some fun?”

“Of course I am,” answered the Woolly Dog. “What do you want to do?”

“Will you give me a ride on your back?” asked a little Rubber Clown, who had a whistle in his back that squeaked when you squeezed him.

“Surely, I’ll give you a ride on my back,” said the Woolly Dog kindly. “Where are you?”

“Up on the shelf over your head. Wait a minute and I’ll jump down,” said the Rubber Clown.

“Oh, now for some fun!” exclaimed the Calico-Dressed Doll.

CHAPTER II
A RICH MAN

“Get ready down there! I’m coming!” called the Rubber Clown to the Woolly Dog. “Is your back strong enough to hold me if I jump?”

“Indeed it is,” answered the Dog. “And I’ll give you a fine ride around the show window.”

If you have read some of the other books in these Make Believe Stories you know that the toys told about could pretend to come to life, move about and play among themselves, as well as talk. But of course all this must be done when no human eyes see them.

And as Mrs. Clark had gone to bed, and as her son Jimmie, the sailor lad, was far away at sea, there was no one to spy on the Woolly Dog, the Rubber Clown, or the other playthings. They could do as they pleased during the night.

“Well, here I come!” cried the Rubber Clown. He was fat, jolly and good-natured even though he was a poor toy, selling for only five cents. And, though he had a tin whistle in his back, he was not at all proud.

The Rubber Clown moved over to the edge of the shelf on which he had been standing for several weeks, as no one seemed to care to buy him. Below him was the platform—or floor—of the show window, where, at this time, the Woolly Dog was the only toy.

“Wait a minute,” barked the Woolly Dog, as he looked up at the Clown, who was about to jump.

“What’s the matter?” the Rubber Clown wanted to know.

“I want to move over a little closer to you,” went on the Dog. “You might not land on my back where I am.”

The Dog, who had fat little stuffed legs, moved them slowly to and fro, and walked over just beneath the end of the toy shelf.

“One,” began the Clown, counting before he leaped. “Two——”

“Wait a minute!” barked the Woolly Dog again.

“What’s the matter now?” the Clown asked.

“Mind the needles and pins,” warned the Dog. “If you land on them you’ll be stuck.”

“I intend to land on your soft, woolly back,” laughed the Clown. “Three!” he cried, finishing his count. “Here I come!”

With that he toppled off the shelf, turning two somersaults as he went down, for he was quite an acrobat, was this Clown.

“Oh, isn’t that perfectly wonderful?” gasped one Calico-Dressed Doll to another.

“Gorgeous!” was the reply. “It’s as good as going to a circus. I didn’t know the Rubber Clown could turn somersaults.”

“Pooh! You ought to see me somersault!” boasted one of the cheap Jumping Jacks. “If I could get rid of this stick and the strings that jiggle my legs I’d show you some somersaulting!”

The Jumping Jack was afraid lest the Calico-Dressed Dolls think too much of the Rubber Clown. The Jumping Jack was a bit jealous, I’m thinking.

Down, down, down, went the Clown, turning over and over as he aimed to land on the Woolly Dog’s back to get a ride.

“Hi! Yi!” yelled the Rubber Clown, in toy language of course. “Here I come!”

“He’s a great trickster,” said a little Penny China Doll.

Then the Rubber Clown did a trick he had not counted on. He missed landing on the Woolly Dog’s back and hit the floor of the show window with both feet. And, being made of rubber, the Clown did just what I think you have guessed he did—he bounced high up in the air. Up he bounded!

“Hold on there! I say! what are you doing?” cried the Woolly Dog. “I thought you were going to ride on my back!”

“I—thought—so—too!” gasped the Clown. He had to speak in jerks because his breath was bounced out of him.

The Rubber Clown bounded nearly as high as the shelf from which he had turned a somersault and then down to the floor of the window he went again.

“Come on—get up on my back!” barked the Dog.

The Clown tried, but he could not. Up in the air he sprang again, like a rubber ball.

“Oh, isn’t this exciting!” cried the Penny China Doll.

“I should say it was!” agreed the Jumping Jack. “It’s the best fun I’ve seen in a long while.”

“It may be—fun for—you,” gasped the Clown. “But it—isn’t any—fun for—me!”

Up and down he bounced, a little less and a little slower each time until at last he bounded only as high as the Woolly Dog’s back.

“Now’s your chance. I’ll run under you and you can sit on me!” barked the fluffy toy.

And that’s just what he did. When the Clown was up in the air the Woolly Dog moved over a bit and stood squarely beneath the Clown. Down came the rubber toy, landing safely on the Dog’s back. He bounced up a little, but not much, for you know rubber will not rebound from anything soft, like a bed. And the Dog’s back was even softer than a hair mattress.

“Now I’m all right,” laughed the Clown. “I thought I’d never get here, though. But here I am! Start off, if you please, Woolly Dog. But wait a minute! I’ll blow my whistle!”

The Rubber Clown made a low bow, compressing the air inside his hollow body just as if he had been squeezed. Out through the tin hole in his back rushed the air, making a whistling sound. The other toys laughed and the Woolly Dog barked, and then he trotted around and gave the Rubber Clown a fine ride in the show window.

Light came in from a street lamp through a crack in the window curtain, so the toys could see to play about. And fine fun they had! After the Clown had been given a ride, the Dog kindly let some of the Dolls get up on his back and, much to their delight, he paraded them around.

The Jumping Jacks did some tricks and the Animals from the Noah’s Ark marched around like a circus procession.

But at last the Clown cried:

“Daylight is coming! To your places, all of you!”

For the coming of daylight meant that Mrs. Clark would open the store for the day’s business, and then the toys could neither speak nor move, for human eyes would see them.

Up to his shelf leaped the Rubber Clown, the Calico-Dressed Dolls laid themselves out straight in their boxes. The Penny China Doll took her place near the Tops and the Woolly Dog walked to the middle of the show window where he had been put so passersby would best notice him.

The store became lighter. The street lamps were put out one by one, and the sun began to shine.

“Another day has begun,” said Mrs. Clark, as she entered her store to raise the curtain. “I certainly hope I do more business to-day than I did yesterday. Rent time is coming very near and I need three dollars! If I could only sell the Woolly Dog!”

She put her tiny stock of toys and goods in order, got her breakfast and then sat down to wait for two things. One was the postman who, she hoped, would bring her a letter from her sailor son. The other was for customers, especially a customer who would buy the Woolly Dog.

It was almost noon when a man passed through the street on which Mrs. Clark’s store stood. This man wore very good clothes, and he carried a cane with a gold head. He looked to be a very rich man, and he was.

“But I don’t see why a rich man is walking through our poor street,” said Lizzie to Sammie.

“Maybe he’s looking for a washerwoman for his wife,” suggested Sammie. Many came to the street for that purpose.

However, Mr. Theodore Blakeley, for that was his name, had not come to Hoyt Street to look for a laundress. He had never been in that street before—in fact, he hardly knew its name or that there was such a street—and his coming to it was a sort of accident.

That morning he had started out in his automobile to go down town to business. He did not like to travel in trolley cars, and as for a jitney, he had never ridden in one in his life!

But even rich men, in autos, have their troubles, and the trouble that came to Mr. Blakeley was that, half way to his office, something made a hole in one of the tires. It was punctured near Hoyt Street, where Mrs. Clark had her shop.

“I shall have to change a tire, sir,” said the chauffeur, touching his hat to Mr. Blakeley.

“Hum! That means delay, I suppose. I think I’ll walk on. It isn’t far, is it, James?”

“No, sir, not if you take the short cut through Hoyt Street.”

“All right, I’ll do it. Come for me this evening, as usual.”

“Yes, sir.”

So the rich Mr. Blakeley alighted from his automobile and started to walk through Hoyt Street—a place where, as far as he could remember, he had never before been. It was not often that rich and well-dressed men were seen there.

And, as it happened, Mr. Blakeley passed Mrs. Clark’s poor little store. And just then the sun shone on the Woolly Dog—on his clean, white, curling coat of lamb’s wool.

“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Blakeley, for he was rather an old-fashioned gentleman. “Bless me! There’s the very thing for Donald’s birthday! It will save me going down town.”

Donald Cressey was the son of Mr. Blakeley’s sister, and the boy was a great favorite of his uncle. Mr. Blakeley’s sister was not as rich as was he, and she could not afford to buy expensive presents. But Mr. Blakeley always saw to it that on Donald’s birthday and at Christmas the boy had something nice.

“Yes, that Woolly Dog will just do for Donald,” went on Mr. Blakeley. “He can’t hurt himself with it, and he can have lots of fun. I’m glad I remembered it was his birthday—came near forgetting it. And it’s lucky I happened to walk through this street. I didn’t know they kept toys here. I’ll go in and get that Dog.”

Then Mr. Blakeley opened the door of Mrs. Clark’s poor little store and went inside.

CHAPTER III
THE WOOLLY DOG’S NEW HOME

“Something I can do for you?” asked Mrs. Clark, “all in a flutter,” she said afterward to her neighbor, Mrs. Elkton, who kept a little grocery store. “The idea,” said Mrs. Clark, “of a rich gentleman like him walking into my poor little place!”

“That Woolly Dog in your window,” answered Mr. Blakeley. “I’ll take it. My nephew’s birthday,” he added, with a smile. Perhaps he thought if he didn’t say this that Mrs. Clark might think he wanted the Woolly Dog for himself. “Wrap it up, please.”

Mrs. Clark was still “all in a flutter.” Never before, in all the years that she had kept store, had anyone bought anything of her without asking the price. And often, when she told them the price, little as it was, the customer walked out without buying.

And Mr. Blakeley had said:

“I’ll take it!”

Just like that—poof!

Mrs. Clark reached over in the show window and picked up the Woolly Dog. She held him firmly in her hand, for her fingers trembled a bit and she did not want to drop the white, clean toy in the dust.

“Oh, I wonder what is going to happen to me?” thought the Woolly Dog, as he felt himself lifted up. “I think there is going to be a great change! Goodness knows I hope so! I hope I’m sold, for Mrs. Clark’s sake. Poor woman, she needs the money I’ll bring.

“Though I shall feel sad at leaving my friends, the poor toys, still, I was shut up in the agent’s sample valise so long that, really, I have had no adventures worth speaking about. Now I feel I am to see life.” So thought the Woolly Dog.

“This is—er—rather an expensive toy,” said Mrs. Clark slowly, as she smoothed the Dog’s wool. “Though it is considered one of the best. The price—er—the price—is—three dollars!”

She almost whispered those last two words, so fearful was she of shocking Mr. Blakeley.

“Eh—what’s that?” he asked, for he was a trifle deaf.

“The price is—three dollars! I’m afraid that’s rather expensive. I don’t carry much in that line—not in this neighborhood—but really I ought to get three dollars for the Dog and——”

“Why, you’re going to get three dollars for him,” chuckled Mr. Blakeley. “I never try to beat down a price. It looks worth it to me. I’ve seen some no better on Main Street that were marked five dollars. I think I’m getting a bargain. Donald will like it, I’m sure. Wrap it up, please, I’m in a hurry—my car broke down.”

With fingers that still trembled, Mrs. Clark wrapped the Woolly Dog in paper and tied it about with cord.

“Hum! This isn’t very pleasant,” thought the Woolly Dog to himself. “But I suppose it can’t last forever. When I get to Donald’s house—wherever that may be—I am sure my adventures will begin. But I wish I could have said good-bye to the poor toys.”

The poor toys themselves wished they might bid farewell to their expensive friend, the Woolly Dog, but it could not be. They dared not move or speak while human eyes were watching.

“There you are, madam, three dollars,” murmured Mr. Blakeley, as he passed over some crisp bills. “And I’m sure I’m quite pleased to get this toy for Donald. Good-morning!”

And out he walked.

“But, my stars! you should have seen the money in his pocketbook when he opened it to pay me the three dollars,” said Mrs. Clark afterward. “Honestly, I never knew men carried so much! But I’m thankful to get the three, as I needed just them to make up my rent. Now I won’t worry for another month, and by that time Jimmie may come home with the gold he is always talking about.” And a few weeks later Jimmie came home and his mother was no longer poor, for the sailor lad had found gold.

Humming to himself a little song, and quite pleased with his early morning shopping, even though the day had started with an accident to his automobile, Mr. Blakeley kept on through Hoyt Street with the paper parcel containing the Woolly Dog.

“Oh, Sammie! He’s bought it!” cried a girl’s voice.

“Who’s bought what?” asked her brother.

“The rich man has bought the big Woolly Dog from Mrs. Clark,” answered Lizzie. “I saw her take it out of the window and a man has it.”

“He has? Well, I’ll buy one like it some day when I get rich!” joked Sammie. “Hey, Timmie,” he went on, calling to another boy, “come on over. I know where there’s a dandy mud puddle!”

Mr. Blakeley, unaware of all the stir he had caused in that poor Hoyt Street by buying so costly a toy, kept on to his office. He was a very important man in business and he found clerks, secretaries and stenographers waiting for him to start the day’s affairs.

But, first of all, after he had taken off his hat, Mr. Blakeley handed to his private secretary the bundle he had brought from Mrs. Clark’s store.

“Take good care of that,” said the rich man to his secretary, Miss Moore. “There’s a dog in it!”

“A dog, Mr. Blakeley? Oh——”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “But don’t be afraid. He can’t bite! Wait, I’ll show him to you.”

He opened one end of the paper parcel and let the Woolly Dog be seen.

“Oh, isn’t he cute!” exclaimed Miss Moore, with a smile. Then she looked rather strangely at her employer.

“It isn’t for me,” went on Mr. Blakeley, with another chuckle. “It’s Donald’s birthday and I’m going to stop at his house this afternoon. Please don’t let me forget this Dog when James comes for me.”

“I’ll remind you, Mr. Blakeley.”

Then the day’s work began in Mr. Blakeley’s office. Clerks came and went, other business men dropped in to talk over money matters, and through it all the Woolly Dog lay wrapped in the paper on Mr. Blakeley’s desk. Once, when the wind started to blow away a bundle of checks, Miss Moore put the Woolly Dog on them as a weight to hold them down.

But the Woolly Dog knew nothing of this, though, even if he had known that he was guarding thousands of dollars I do not believe he would have been proud.

He was a very good and sensible Woolly Dog.

At last the business day came to an end. Mr. Blakeley finished signing papers and dictating letters. He reached for his hat when the porter came in to say that James and the automobile were outside.

“Don’t forget the Woolly Dog!” called Miss Moore, as she saw Mr. Blakeley about to leave his office without the bundle.

“Bless me! I should say not!” he cried. “Donald wouldn’t know what to think if I drove up on his birthday without a present! Come on, Doggie,” and he whistled a little, pretending that the Woolly Dog in the parcel was alive.

Miss Moore laughed to see her employer so jolly. As for the plaything, well, the Woolly Dog was alive, in a way, for he could hear the whistle, though of course he dared not bark in answer.

“Now I am traveling again,” thought the Dog to himself, as he felt Mr. Blakeley carrying him out to the car. James had mended the puncture and had called at the rich man’s office as he did every afternoon.

“Home, sir?” asked James, touching his cap as he closed the door after Mr. Blakeley had entered the car.

“No, to my sister’s house. You know where it is, James?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s Donald’s birthday,” explained Mr. Blakeley, and the chauffeur smiled as he caught a glimpse, through the torn paper, of the Woolly Dog.

Donald Cressey lived with his father and mother in a pleasant little house just outside the big city, and when Donald’s mother saw her brother’s large car coming to a stop in front of her home she called:

“Oh, Donald, here’s Uncle Teddy!”

“Has he brought my birthday present?” asked the little boy, as he eagerly raced to the door.

“You mustn’t expect Uncle Teddy to bring you a present each birthday,” replied his mother, for she did not want Donald to look for too much.

“Oh, but he always brings me something when I get a year older,” the boy murmured. “Don’t you think he will this time?”

Mrs. Cressey did not answer. She was watching her brother get out of his car. And then she and Donald, at the same time, saw the paper bundle.

“Oh, he has it! He has it!” cried Donald, jumping up and down for joy. A moment later he was in his uncle’s arms and was trying to loosen the paper and string from around the present.

And when he saw the pretty, white Woolly Dog the boy cried:

“Oh, that’s just what I wanted! Now I can have some fun!”

“You mustn’t get it dirty,” warned his mother. “It is a beautiful dog, Teddy,” she said to her brother. “But Donald must not soil it. Be careful—don’t drop it.”

“The Dog will wash. The lady I bought it of said so,” went on Donald’s uncle. “She washed it herself once, she said. I guess Donald won’t hurt it. Let him play with it and have a good time.”

And Donald certainly had a good time with the Woolly Dog. He hugged it close to him, and squeezed it hard, but the Woolly Dog did not mind that, for he was stuffed with soft cotton and could stand a great deal of squeezing.

“He seems to like it,” said Donald’s mother. “You were very kind to remember him, Teddy.”

“I thought of his birthday this morning when I happened to pass a toy store,” and Mr. Blakeley told about walking through Hoyt Street.

Donald thanked his uncle, and then showed him some of the other presents he had received. One was a little toy train of cars, and when Donald was telling his uncle that they would run on a tin track, suddenly the door of the room burst open and in rushed a little golden-haired creature with bright, flashing eyes. She caught sight of the new gift and cried:

“Oh, I wants Woolly Dog! I wants him! I hab him!”

And before Donald could save his new toy, his little sister, Jane, caught up the Woolly Dog in her arms and ran out of the room.

“Here! Come back! Come back with my Woolly Dog!” shouted Donald, but Jane ran down the hall.

CHAPTER IV
WHAT LITTLE JANE DID

Jane, who was Donald’s little sister, did not exactly know what she was going to do with the Woolly Dog which she had picked up so quickly and run away with. Jane was like that—she often took Donald’s toys and tried to keep them for herself, for she was too small to know any better.

Often Donald, being a kind boy, would let his little sister keep the things she took—at least, he would let her play with them until he wanted them, and by that time Jane was tired of them and wanted something else.

This time the little girl had seen Donald’s new Woolly Dog and had used her chance to get it. She thought perhaps she could go to a room by herself and play with the new toy. But Donald was too quick for her. Down the hall after his sister he ran, still shouting:

“Come back with my Dog! Come back with my Dog!”

“Jane! Jane! You mustn’t take Donald’s new birthday gift!” exclaimed Mrs. Cressey.

“Oh, don’t take it away from her,” begged Uncle Teddy. “I’ll get Donald a new one.”

“No, that must not be,” said Mrs. Cressey. “Jane must learn that certain things belong to Donald and others to her. She will grow up to be a selfish little girl if I let her have her way too much. Jane, Jane, come back with Donald’s Dog, please!”

But Jane did not come back. She ran into one room, out through a side door, and down another hall, all the while clutching the Woolly Dog close in her arms. After her ran her mother, Donald, and even Uncle Teddy, who was laughing and chuckling in glee.

“Even if Jane is a little bad, I haven’t had so much fun in a long while,” thought Mr. Blakeley to himself. “She’s a regular tyke, that’s what she is. Ha! Ha! She certainly can run! The little tyke!”

And run with the Woolly Dog, Jane surely did. As for that toy, he did not know what to think, and of course he could say or do nothing while Jane had him.

“Dear me!” thought the Woolly Dog, “I’m afraid I’m not going to have as much fun here as I had hoped. I might better have been left in Mrs. Clark’s little store, poor as it was. At least it was peaceable and quiet there.”

But other and more dreadful things were to happen to the Woolly Dog. His adventures were just beginning. Jane squeezed him so tightly that, had he been a real dog, he would have howled with pain. But, being only a Woolly Dog, stuffed with cotton, he dared not cry out. Perhaps if there had been a squeaker in him, or a tin whistle, such as was in the Rubber Clown, he might have made a noise.

But, as it was, the Woolly Dog kept silent, and at last Jane ran with him into another room, slammed the door and looked around. What was she going to do next, the Woolly Dog wanted to know.

“I hide, ’at’s what I do; I hide!” said little Jane to herself. “I hide, an’ Woolly Dog hide. Den dey tan’t find us!” She was so excited that she talked “baby talk,” of which her mother had almost cured her.

In another moment the little girl had seen a good place to hide—under the couch in the room where she had run to get away from Donald, her mother and Uncle Teddy. Under the couch, still closely hugging the Woolly Dog, rolled little Jane. She laughed and chuckled to herself to think how she would fool those looking for her.

And fool them she did, for, a moment later, into the room hurried the three—Donald in the lead, then his mother, and lastly Uncle Teddy, who was puffing and blowing, for he was rather fat and rather old and not used to running.

“Jane! Jane! Where are you? Where’s my Woolly Dog?” cried Donald.

Jane, under the conch, did not answer.

“She isn’t in here, I guess,” said Mother Cressey.

“She came in here,” said Uncle Teddy. “I heard the door slam.”

“She must have gone out again,” went on Donald’s mother. “She’s a little rascal, that’s what Jane is, sometimes. And when she wants to, she can be as good as gold—or pie.”

“Pie is better than gold,” chuckled Uncle Teddy. “I wish you could give me a piece, Mabel,” he said. “No pie I get, even in the best restaurants, is like yours.”

“I’ll give you some,” said his sister.

“After we find Jane,” he suggested. “Maybe she’ll want some, too.”

“I do,” said Donald. “But first I want my Woolly Dog.”

“Jane shouldn’t have taken it,” said his mother. “Jane! Jane! Where are you?” she called again.

But Jane, hidden under the couch with the Woolly Dog, did not answer, and, as the couch had a covering on, which came nearly to the floor, she could not be seen.

“I guess she ran up to the playroom,” said Donald.

Jane wanted to laugh out loud as she thought how she was fooling them all. And, to keep from laughing, by which sound they would know where she was, the little girl stuffed into her mouth the tail of the Woolly Dog.

For a time this held back her laugh, but the fuzzy tail tickled Jane, and she felt like sneezing. However, she held back the sneeze and did not “ker-choo” until she heard those who were looking for her leave the room. Then Jane laughed and sneezed.

“Dear me,” thought the Woolly Dog, “I’m glad she didn’t sneeze when she had my tail in her mouth! She might have bitten it off. Oh, but what is going to happen? So much excitement! It wouldn’t be like this in the store if I had lived there for a whole year!”

But more was yet to come.

Jane, under the couch, listened until she was sure no one was in the room but herself and the Woolly Dog. Sometimes Donald played a trick on her when she was hiding by pretending to go out of the room where she was and then tiptoeing back softly to be ready to catch her.

So Jane peeped out from under the edge of the couch and then, making sure no one was in sight, she rolled out as she had rolled under, with the Woolly Dog in her arms.

“My goodness!” thought the toy, “if she rolls much more I’ll get as dizzy as if I had chased my tail.”

But Jane did not intend to do much rolling. She had another plan in her queer little head. So, once out from under the couch, she looked around for something she wanted.

Jane had run into the sewing room in her flight to get away from Donald and keep her brother’s birthday Dog. And in the sewing room were needles, pins, spools of thread and many things such as were in the window of Mrs. Clark’s store.

“Well, I feel quite at home here,” thought the Woolly Dog, as he looked around and saw the needles and pins. But these were not what Jane wanted. She found what she was looking for in her mother’s sewing basket—a pair of sharp, shining scissors.

Jane picked up the scissors and sat down on the floor with the Woolly Dog in her lap. There was a serious look on the little girl’s face.

“Now I see where it is,” she whispered to herself. “Now I find out all ’bout you!”

The Woolly Dog saw the points of the sharp, shining scissors in the chubby hands of Jane coming nearer and nearer to him.

“Oh, what dreadful thing is going to happen now?” thought the Woolly Dog. “Can she be going to cut me?”

He wanted to close his glass eyes, but he dared not. He wanted to howl in terror, but he dared not. He wanted to bark and scare little Jane, but he dared not.

He dared do none of these things. He dared not pretend to come to life while the eyes of Jane were upon him. And she was looking at him closely.

Jane turned the Woolly Dog over on his back in her lap. She opened and closed the scissors with a clashing sound.

“This is the end of me!” thought the poor Woolly Dog. “Oh, if I were only back in the store with the poor toys!”

“Now I see what’s inside you,” murmured Jane.

“Snip!” went the sharp scissors, and there was a long gash cut in the Woolly Dog’s stomach, letting out some of the cotton stuffing.

“Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!” thought the toy, but he dared not say a word or utter so much as a whine.

“Snip!” went the scissors again, and a longer gash was cut in the Woolly Dog.

Jane leaned over to look at the mischief she had done. She did not seem to be satisfied, for she said:

“I dess I make hole bigger.”

“Snip!” went the scissors again.

The Woolly Dog thought he would faint! But he was a very brave Dog, and so he held his breath and stood it all without even an inner shudder.

“Now I dess I see what’s inside you,” murmured Jane.

Down among the wads of cotton that filled the inside of the Woolly Dog the little girl poked her fingers. This way and that she twisted them, and, oh, how she tickled that poor little Woolly Dog. You know how it feels to be tickled on the outside of your ribs, but how would you like to be tickled on the inside?

Well, that’s what was happening to the Woolly Dog. He was being tickled on the inside!

How he wanted to laugh, in spite of his pain, but he dared not.

“Where is it? I wonder where it is?” said Jane over and over again, as her fingers wiggled in among the wads of cotton stuffing.

Then, suddenly, the door of the sewing room opened and in came Donald. He gave one look at what Jane was doing, and cried:

“I’ve found her! Oh, Mother, I’ve found her!”

“Where is she?” asked his mother, for they had been searching all over the house for the mischievous little girl. “Where is she, Donald?”

“She’s in the sewing room. And, oh, Mother! she’s killed my Woolly Dog. She’s killed him dead! Oh! Oh!” And Donald burst into tears at the sight of his birthday toy.

CHAPTER V
A LOST DIAMOND

“Donald! Donald! What do you mean? What has Jane done?” asked Mrs. Cressey, as she followed closely after her little boy and entered the room where Jane had hidden.

“Look! Just look!” sobbed Donald, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. He was getting to be a big boy he thought, and hated to cry, but this time he just couldn’t help it. To have his new birthday Woolly Dog cut up so soon after he had received it from Uncle Teddy! Wasn’t it sad?

Uncle Teddy himself, who had followed Mrs. Cressey, came into the room. They had searched all over the house for Jane, and at last her mother had thought perhaps the little girl might have hidden under the couch. Or, rather, it was Donald who spoke of it. He said:

“Maybe she’s there. Sometimes she hides there when we’re playing hide-and-seek.”

“We’ll look,” answered his mother.

So, back to this room they had gone and there, of course, they had found Jane.

At the sight of the sharp, shining scissors and the cut dog lying in the little girl’s lap, Mrs. Cressey exclaimed:

“Oh, Jane! what are you doing?”

“I—I—now, I want to find the Woolly Dog’s bark,” explained Jane.

“His bark?” cried her mother.

“Yes. I want to see if he’s got a bow-wow inside him.”

“He hasn’t,” said Donald, chokingly. “There isn’t any bark in my Woolly Dog. He doesn’t even squeak, does he, Uncle Teddy?”

Woolly Dog Objects to Jane’s Scissors.

The Story of a Woolly Dog.

Page 46

“No, I hardly think so. The storekeeper didn’t say he did.”

“Well, I was lookin’ for his bark,” said Jane, “but I didn’t find it.”

“Yes, and you’ve killed him—that’s what you’ve done!” cried Donald. “Jane, you’re a bad, bad girl! My Woolly Dog is spoiled dead!”

“Never mind, I’ll get you another,” said Uncle Teddy.

Mrs. Cressey picked up the Woolly Dog from her little girl’s lap. Some of the cotton stuffing was sticking out of the gash the scissors had made in his stomach. Donald’s mother looked the Dog over carefully.

“He isn’t much harmed,” she said. “I can easily mend him, Donald.”

“Oh, can you, Mother?”

“Yes, I can put the stuffing back in and sew up the cut and he will be as good as ever.”

“Are you sure?” asked Uncle Teddy. “Because if you aren’t, I’ll get Donald another dog, though this was the only one in the store.”

“I’m sure I can mend him,” said Mrs. Cressey. “Jane didn’t do much damage, after all.”

“Won’t the place show where you sew him up?” asked Donald doubtfully.

“Yes, it will show a little,” his mother answered.

“But you can pretend your Dog has been to the hospital and has had an operation,” suggested Uncle Teddy.

“Oh, so I can! That will be fun!” replied Donald, and he dried his tears. “But Jane shouldn’t have cut him; should she, Mother?”

“No, she was a naughty little girl, I’m afraid.”

“I—now—I dess was lookin’ for his bark,” said Jane, and her lips began to quiver as they always did just before she burst into tears.

“There, there!” soothed Uncle Teddy, for he knew what was going to happen. “I guess you didn’t intend to do it, Jane. You won’t cut the Dog open again, will you?”

“N-n-n-no,” promised Jane. “I won’t cut him open to see him’s bark any more ’cause he hasn’t—now—got any!”

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Uncle Teddy. “That’s right—he hasn’t any bark. But don’t cut him open again anyhow, will you?”

“No,” promised Jane. Then she smiled.

And Donald smiled, too, for he knew his Woolly Dog would be almost as good as new when his mother had sewed it up after putting back the stuffing.

“And now for my piece of pie, and then I must get back home,” said Uncle Teddy. “Happy birthday, Donald!”

“Thank you, and I wish you the same,” said the little boy.

“So do I,” chimed in Jane. “An’ I—I—I’ll give you a—kiss, Don,” and she went over to him.

Of course Donald had to forgive her after that, and once more there was happiness.

“Things may not turn out so badly after all, if they sew me up,” thought the Woolly Dog. “But for a time I thought my last hour had come. It’s been quite an adventure, anyhow.”

“I’ll put your Dog in my sewing basket until I get Uncle Teddy his piece of pie,” said Mrs. Cressey to Donald. “Then I’ll make him as good as ever for you.”

“Could I have some pie?” asked Jane.

“Well, you have been rather a naughty little girl,” said her mother slowly. “But as long as it’s Donald’s birthday we’ll forgive you.”

While the pie was being served down in the dining room the Woolly Dog lay in the sewing basket in the work room, a long gash in his stomach and the cotton stuffing bulging out.

“I’m sure I need to go to the hospital,” thought the Woolly Dog.

Just then he heard a voice asking:

“Who are you and where did you come from?”

Donald’s birthday toy looked around and saw, gazing at him, a funny little Chinese man, with queer, slanting eyes.

“I am a Woolly Dog, and I just came from the store,” answered the new plaything. “Who are you, if you please?”

“I am a needle case,” was the answer. “Mrs. Cressey keeps her needles in me. I’m hollow inside. Are you?”

“No,” answered the Woolly Dog. “I’m stuffed with cotton, but some of it is coming out.”

“So I see,” remarked the Chinese Man. “I saw Jane cut you. She is a little tyke—that girl! I’m glad I’m made of hard china so she can’t cut me. My head comes off. Does yours?” he asked suddenly.

“Gracious, I should hope not!” barked the Woolly Dog. Now that there were no human beings to see or hear he could pretend to be alive.

“Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be good to have your head come off,” went on the Chinese Man. “But, you see, I’m hollow inside, and when Mrs. Cressey lifts off my head there’s a place for her to drop her sewing needles. I’m full of needles. Listen!”

The Chinese man jiggled himself up and down and a queer rattling came from within him.

“Don’t they tickle you—those needles?” asked the Woolly Dog.

“Not a bit, thank you.”

“Don’t they prick you with their sharp points?”

“No, I don’t mind them in the least. That’s what it is to be made of hard china like a plate or a cup and saucer.”

“I suppose so—yes,” agreed the Woolly Dog. “But tell me—is this a good place to live? You see, I just came and I don’t know much about the family.”

“Why, yes, it’s a very good place,” said the Chinese Man. “Of course, Jane is a bit mischievous, but she’ll get over that. Donald isn’t so bad, for a boy. Of course he shouts a lot.”

“All boys do that,” said the Woolly Dog. “You should have heard them on the street where I was in a store. I suppose you were in a store yourself?” he suggested.

“Once upon a time, many years ago,” said the Chinese Man who was a needle case. “It’s so long I have almost forgotten. But I think you’ll like it here if you can keep away from Jane. Once she took off my head and dropped it in the goldfish bowl.”

“She did?” cried the Woolly Dog. “Did they bite you—those goldfish, I mean?”

“They tried to,” laughed the Chinese Man. “But I have a very hard head and they only broke off their teeth, so they stopped.”

“My, that was a wonderful adventure!” barked the Woolly Dog.

“Yes, it was,” agreed the Chinese Man, as he rattled the needles inside him. “Luckily I can hold my breath a long time, so I didn’t take in any water, and Mrs. Cressey saw what had happened and fished me out. After that she put me up on this shelf where Jane couldn’t get me.”

“I wish they’d keep me on a shelf,” sighed the Woolly Dog. “Oh, but I’m all cut up.”

“Never mind, I heard Mrs. Cressey say she was going to sew you up,” said the Chinese Man. “And she is very clever with her needle—very. You should see her sew buttons on Donald’s clothes.”

“Does he need many sewed on?”

“Does he? Say, I never saw a boy burst so many buttons off his clothes! It’s a wonder to me he doesn’t fly apart. I remember——”

But suddenly the Chinese Man stopped talking and the Woolly Dog, looking around to learn the reason, saw Mrs. Cressey coming into the room, followed by Donald.

“Now I’ll sew up your Woolly Dog,” said the little boy’s mother.

That was the reason the Chinese Man could no longer talk, nor could the Woolly Dog. There were human beings present.

But the Dog was glad he had made a new friend in the house, and he thought that after dark, when everyone was asleep, he could come and visit the Chinese Man and hear more stories. Perhaps there were other toys with whom he might play when the house was quiet.

“Now to mend your birthday Dog,” said Donald’s mother.

She threaded a needle, taking one from the china case, lifting off the head of the Chinese Man to do so.

“Ah, that’s what he meant by his head coming off!” thought the Woolly Dog.

Mrs. Cressey first carefully poked back inside the Woolly Dog the cotton stuffing that Jane had pulled out when searching for the Dog’s “bark.” Then Donald’s mother, taking very fine stitches so they would not show, mended the gash in the Dog’s stomach.

While she was doing this she tickled the Woolly Dog quite a bit. He wanted to squirm and wiggle and even bark, but he dared do none of these things, for both Donald and his mother were looking at him.

“There you are, Donald,” said Mrs. Cressey, at last. “You can hardly tell where he was cut. Your birthday Dog is as good as ever.”

“Oh, Mother! I’m so glad!” cried the little boy. “Now I can play with him and have fun.”

The Woolly Dog was glad to feel himself in Donald’s arms again, and he hoped Jane would let him alone.

“But, all the same,” thought the Woolly Dog to himself, “there is a queer, ticklish feeling inside me. I’m not the same Dog I was before, and I know it. That queer, tickling feeling—I wonder what it is?”

But there seemed no way of finding out.

When Donald’s father came home that evening the new toy was shown to him, and he was told what Jane had done. Jane was a little ashamed of herself and hung her head.

“I not hurt your Doggie any more, Don,” she promised.

That evening, after supper, the two children played with their toys, and Donald even let Jane hold his Woolly Dog for a while. And Jane was very careful.

“But it’s the funniest thing about that tickling feeling inside my ribs,” thought the Dog to himself. “I didn’t have it before Jane cut me open.

“I guess some of my cotton stuffing didn’t get put back just straight, as it was before,” he thought. “Well, no matter, I suppose I ought to consider myself lucky not to be in the hospital.”

“Come on,” called Donald to Jane. “I’ll put my Woolly Dog on the train of cars and give him a ride.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun!” laughed Jane.

“Gracious! A ride on the cars!” thought the Woolly Dog. “That will be a new adventure for me!”

And he liked riding on Donald’s toy train very much.

Then night came and the children had to go to bed. The Woolly Dog was put on a shelf in the playroom with other toys, some of which Donald and Jane had received for Christmas.

It was when Mrs. Cressey was getting ready for bed that she suddenly looked at her left hand and exclaimed to her husband:

“Oh, my diamond engagement ring is gone!”

“It is?”

“Yes. I must have dropped it on the floor! Oh, help me look for it! I wouldn’t lose that for anything!”

But though they looked on the floors of several rooms, the missing diamond ring was not found.

“When did you have it last?” asked Mr. Cressey.

“I wore it all day,” answered his wife. “I had it on when Brother Theodore was here, and in all the excitement about Don’s Dog. I had it on when I sewed up the Dog and when I ate supper, for I remember it very well.”

“Maybe it dropped off in the soup,” suggested Mr. Cressey.

“No, for then I’d have seen it on my plate. Oh, where is my diamond ring?”

CHAPTER VI
THE CHINA CAT

Besides being very valuable, Mrs. Cressey’s diamond ring was highly prized because it was her engagement token, given her before her marriage. There were tears in her eyes as she looked through the different rooms for the missing jewel.

“Don’t feel so bad about it,” said her husband. “I’m sure we’ll find it.”

But they did not find it that night, and the next morning the search was kept up. Donald and Jane, when told what had happened, also joined in hunting for the diamond ring, and Donald even looked among his toys, thinking it might be there.

But it wasn’t, nor was it among Jane’s dolls and other playthings where the little girl looked.

“I’ll buy you another ring,” said Mr. Cressey.

“Oh, I never could have but one engagement ring,” sighed his wife, with tears in her eyes. “I want my own ring back!”

However, it could not be found, search as they did. Mrs. Cressey could not imagine where she had dropped it, for that is how she thought it must have become lost, since she had not been out of the house.

“Well, maybe it will turn up somewhere in one of the rooms some day,” said Mr. Cressey, as he went to the office. He felt sad on his wife’s account.

Now I must tell you a little of what the Woolly Dog did the first night he spent in the home of Donald. As I have mentioned, after supper the birthday toy was put on a shelf in the playroom. Other toys were there, and in the middle of the room was a large Rocking Horse.

“I see we have a new one among us,” said a Jack-in-the-Box, when night had come and the toys were allowed to pretend to come to life. “There is a new toy among us, friends.”

“Do you mean the Woolly Dog?” asked a Celluloid Doll which had been given Jane for Christmas.

“Yes, I mean the Woolly Dog,” answered the Jack-in-the-Box. “How do you do, Mr. Dog?” he went on. “And how do you like it here? We always ask new toys that,” he said politely.

“I like it very well,” answered the Woolly Dog. “Of course, I don’t know much about this place yet, and I hardly feel that I know Donald at all. As for Jane——”

“Don’t speak of Jane!” cried the Celluloid Doll. “Asking your pardon for interrupting you,” she went on to the Dog. “But that Jane is a tyke, if ever there was one.”

“You should see what she did to me!” barked the Woolly Dog.

“Do You Think I’ll Ever Have A Book Made About Me?” Asked Woolly Dog.

The Story of a Woolly Dog.

Page 73

“Tell us!” begged a Paper Doll.

And the Woolly Dog told about being cut open.

“That’s even worse than what happened to me,” sighed the Celluloid Doll.

“What happened to you?” inquired the Dog, for he thought it only polite to show an interest in the troubles of other toys.

“Oh, Jane dropped me and smashed my nose,” said the Doll. “There’s a dent in it that will never come out. My beauty is spoiled forever! Oh, dear!”

“I’m sorry,” said the Dog. “But tell me—have you a ticklish feeling inside you?”

The Celluloid Doll gave herself a little shake.

“No, I don’t feel ticklish,” she answered, after thinking a moment. “That doesn’t mean I want you to tickle me, though!” she exclaimed, jumping away as a Donkey from a Noah’s Ark walked over toward her, wagging his ears.

“Have any of you toys a ticklish feeling inside you?” asked the Woolly Dog.

One after another the different toys said they had not.

“Well, it’s very strange,” went on the Woolly Dog. “I didn’t have it in the store, but since my accident I feel like laughing all the while.”

“That’s a jolly good way to feel, I should think,” observed a Tin Soldier. “Too many of us are gloomy and sad. I am not, even if I have to go to war, but to feel like laughing all the while—right jolly I call that!”

“You wouldn’t if you had a place that wanted scratching and you couldn’t reach it to scratch,” declared the Woolly Dog.

“Is that how you feel?” asked the Celluloid Doll.

“Yes,” was the reply. “I’m ticklish all the while lately. But don’t let my trouble worry you. Let’s have some fun,” he proposed.

“Let’s ride on the Rocking Horse!” suggested the Jack-in-the-Box. “Did you ever ride on a Rocking Horse?” he asked the Woolly Dog.

“No,” was the answer. “But last night, in the store, I gave the Rubber Clown a ride on my back—that is, I did after he stopped bouncing up and down. Ha! Ha! That was funny!”

“Tell us about it,” begged the Paper Doll, and the Dog did.

The other toys laughed and all of them said the Woolly Dog was a jolly chap. They were glad he had come to live among them, and after some more talk the toys began moving about more freely, for they could do this when no human eyes watched them.

“Do you mind if we ride on your back?” asked the Jumping Jack of the Rocking Horse. “I have only one leg,” he added, “so I shan’t be very heavy.”

“How did you lose your leg?” asked the Woolly Dog. “Was it in war?” and he looked at the Tin Soldier.

“No, it was Jane’s fault,” said the one-legged Jumping Jack. “I belong to Donald, but one day Jane tried to grab me away from her brother. She got hold of one leg and pulled and pulled and pulled until she pulled it off. Oh, what a day that was!”

“Couldn’t you have it glued on again?” asked the Dog.

“Well, they tried it,” answered the Jumping Jack. “But they must have used the wrong kind of glue, for my leg broke off and was lost down a crack. Since then I’ve had only one leg.”

“You are worse off than I am,” barked the Woolly Dog. “I have all four legs even if I was cut open and have a ticklish feeling inside.”

The Rocking Horse began tilting to and fro.

“If you toys are going to ride on my back, you’d better begin,” he neighed. “It will soon be morning.”

“That’s right,” said the Jack-in-the-Box. “Daylight will soon be here and we’ll have to grow stiff and silent. Hurray for a ride on the Rocking Horse!”

The Rocking Horse was so large that all the toys could get on his back at once. This they did, mounting one after another. Jack-in-the-Box helped up the one-legged Jumping Jack, and soon they were all having a jolly ride around the playroom.

“My, I’m glad I came here to live,” said the Woolly Dog, as he laughed at the funny look on the Celluloid Doll’s face while the Rocking Horse galloped around a curve.

“Yes, I think you will like it,” remarked the Paper Doll. And then she suddenly cried: “Quick! Catch me! I’m slipping! I’m going to fall!”

“I have you,” chattered a little Stuffed Monkey, and, putting out a hairy hand, he caught hold of the Paper Doll.

“Well, this is the last time I can ride you around,” neighed the Horse. “I see daylight coming.”

A final merry ride was given the toys and then they all had to scurry back to their places, for Donald or Jane might come in any moment. And, a little later, the children entered the playroom.

All that day Donald and his sister played with the Woolly Dog and other toys. They took some of their playthings out on the porch, and other children living near by came over to join in the fun.

A little girl named Dorothy had a Sawdust Doll, and Dick, her brother, had a Rocking Horse almost as large as Donald’s on which the toys had ridden in the night.

Another boy named Arnold owned a Bold Tin Soldier, and Mirabell, his sister, had a Lamb on Wheels. Then there was Madeline with a Candy Rabbit, Archie with a Stuffed Elephant, Herbert who had a Monkey on a Stick, and Sidney with a Calico Clown.

But of all the toys Donald’s Woolly Dog was the newest and freshest. Once when the children went into the house to get some bread and jam, leaving the toys alone, they talked among themselves, and the Sawdust Doll and the Tin Soldier told of some adventures they had gone through—adventures, they said, which had been made into books.

“Do you think I’ll ever have a book made about me?” asked the Woolly Dog.

“Maybe, some day,” answered the Stuffed Elephant. “But first you must have lots of adventures.”

“Do you think they’ll put me in a book even if I have a tickling feeling inside?” barked the Dog.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” replied the Elephant. “It’s a mere trifle.”

“You wouldn’t call it a trifle if you had it,” said the Dog.

Then the children came back and the toys had to keep quiet. For many days Donald played with his Woolly Dog. For many days Mrs. Cressey looked for her lost diamond ring without finding it.

Each night the Woolly Dog was put in the playroom with the other toys, but one night Donald forgot his Dog and left him in the front hall. There Susan the maid found him.

“I declare!” exclaimed Susan, “Donald has forgotten his birthday toy that his Uncle Teddy gave him. I’ll put him in the hall closet with the umbrellas,” and she did, meaning to tell Donald in the morning.

“Dear me! This isn’t a very nice place to be shut up in,” thought the Woolly Dog, as he found himself in the umbrella closet. “And what a funny smell,” he went on. “I say,” he called aloud, “are you here, Mr. Clown? I seem to smell you.”

“It’s the rubbers and overshoes you smell,” said a voice. “They are made of rubber as, I suppose, is the Clown you speak of.”

“Oh, I see,” barked the Woolly Dog. “But who are you?” he asked. “I can’t make out where you are?”

“I’m down inside one of these umbrellas,” was the answer. “If you will give it a little jiggle I think I can get out. I’m caught on one of the ribs.”

“One of your ribs!” exclaimed the Woolly Dog.

“No, one of the umbrella ribs. That’s it—thank you,” went on the voice, and, as the Woolly Dog shook the umbrella, out of it crawled a Cat.

“Oh, bow wow! Gurr-r-r-r—rrr!” barked the Woolly Dog. “Oh, a Cat! I must chase you! Dogs always chase Cats! Bow wow!”

“No, don’t chase me,” mewed the Cat. “I am a toy like yourself. I am only a China Cat. Don’t chase me, but hear my sad story.”

CHAPTER VII
IN THE BEEHIVE

The Woolly Dog stopped short on hearing this. He did not want to be unkind, but, as he said, dogs always chased cats, and he was a Dog, even if he was made of lamb’s wool and stuffed with cotton.

“Don’t chase me,” mewed the China Cat. “I am a toy, like yourself. I am not real, and I have had, oh, such a sad life.”

“Well, of course, if you are a toy I won’t chase you,” barked the Woolly Dog. “I didn’t know you were one of us. I thought you were a regular Cat. You look like one.”

“Yes, for a China Cat I am well made,” went on the other toy, as she snuggled down on the floor of the closet among the rubbers where the Woolly Dog had been placed by Susan. “It isn’t very nice in here, is it?” she went on.

“No,” agreed the Woolly Dog. “But Donald will take me out in the morning. And I rather like that rubbery smell—it reminds me of the Clown and the time I was in the store. But you spoke of a sad story—tell me about it. We are by ourselves now and can do as we please. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, I have been shut up in this closet over a week!” said the China Cat sadly. “And it has been so lonesome! Tell me—you belong to some little child, don’t you?”

“Yes,” answered the Woolly Dog. “To a little boy named Donald.”

“Well, I am a child’s pet, too,” mewed the Cat. “But I have been forgotten, I guess. The children here had a party, and I was one of the toys brought to it. Then the little child who owned me forgot me, and I was tossed into the closet with a pair of rubbers, into one of which I had fallen. I bounced from the rubber into the partly closed umbrella, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Why didn’t you crawl out some night?” asked the Dog. “You could have scrambled up inside the umbrella by your claws, I should think.”

“I tried it,” said the China Cat. “But each time I got tangled in the ribs and stuck. It wasn’t until you came and gave the umbrella a shake that I could get out. I’m much obliged to you.”

“Oh, I’m glad I could help,” said the Dog. “But now tell me your sad story.”

“It’s in a book, and you can read it if you know how,” mewed the Cat. “But I’ll tell you part of it. Once I was in a store as you were, and there was a fire. Oh, I was so black and dirty and smoky! And I was stolen by a colored boy!”

“Oh, never!” barked the Dog.

“Yes, I was!” insisted the China Cat. “Then there was a flood and a terrible time, but at last I was given a good home and I lived happily until this misfortune came. Now isn’t that a sad story?”

“Yes, it is,” agreed the Dog. “But when it comes to sad stories, I have one of my own.”

“Do tell me,” begged the China Cat, curling her whiskers. “I love sad stories.”

“Well,” began the Dog, “I have a ticklish feeling inside me, and——”

“I don’t call that sad,” interrupted the Cat, with a smile.

“You would if you had it,” barked the Dog. “Tell me—were you ever cut open and sewed together again?”

“No, never!” exclaimed the China Cat.

“Well, would you call that sad?”

“I certainly would, Mr. Woolly Dog. Tell me more about it.”

Then the Dog told his story and the two toy friends had a good time there in the closet talking to one another. Morning came and they had to keep quiet. Susan, the maid, remembered about putting the Woolly Dog away and opened the door to take him out.

“Here, Donald, is your Dog,” she said.

Jane looked in and saw the China Cat.

“Oh, whose is that?” cried the little girl. “I’m going to have it!”

But Jane’s mother remembered about the child visitor who had lost the China Cat. So she sent it home, and very glad the Cat was to get back where she belonged. The Woolly Dog was sad at losing his new friend, but he hoped to see her again.

In spite of good times at Donald’s house there was always a little sadness because of the lost diamond ring.

Those who were sad were Mr. and Mrs. Cressey and it was because of the lost diamond ring that the parents of Donald and Jane were sad. As for the children, they were having so much fun with their toys that after the first few days they gave no more thought to the lost diamond.

“I know how we can have some fun,” said Donald to Jane one day.

“How?” asked the little girl, who was always ready for a good time.

“We’ll take some of our toys out on the porch and play circus,” Donald answered.

Soon the children were playing this game. The Woolly Dog was there, of course, and so was a little Donkey that could wiggle his ears and nod his head. Donald also had a Wooden Tiger who looked very fierce but who wouldn’t even so much as bite your little finger if you put it in his mouth. He was a very good Tiger, even if he did look fierce.

“I’ll make my Woolly Dog do tricks,” said Donald.

He found a small wooden hoop and Susan kindly pasted some paper over it for the little boy.

“Now I’ll make my Dog jump through the hoop the way they do in the circus,” said Donald. And, as truly as I am telling you, the Woolly Dog really burst through the paper hoop.

Of course Donald tossed the Dog, but it looked very natural, and Jane clapped her hands in delight.

“Now make believe your Dog is a horse and let my Celluloid Doll ride on his back,” proposed Jane.

“Oh, that’ll be fun!” laughed Donald, and this was done. The Celluloid Doll looked like a real circus bareback rider.

But, after a while, the children became tired of playing circus.

“What else can we do?” asked Jane.

Donald thought for a moment and he was about to say they might make mud pies when a playmate from down the street came running up crying:

“Oh, Don! Oh, Jane! There’s a hand-organ man and a monkey around the corner! Come and see him!”

Away ran Donald and Jane, leaving their toys on the porch.

“Oh, such children!” sighed Susan, as she came out and saw the playthings. “I must pick them up or some street boys might take them.”

Susan thought she picked up everything, but the Woolly Dog had fallen behind a post out of sight, and the maid did not see this toy. So the Dog was left on the porch.

A little later two bad boys came along. One of them, looking over the fence, saw the Woolly Dog.

“I’m going to take that,” he said.

“Better not,” warned the other.

“Sure I will,” said the first. “No one will see me.” He went slyly into the yard and picked up the Woolly Dog. “This is a dandy!” he exclaimed, pawing the clean white wool of the Dog with his dirty hands. “I’ll take him home.”

The bad boys started home with Donald’s Woolly Dog, but they had not gone far down the street before, looking back, the second boy cried:

“Here comes a policeman! He’s after you because you took that Dog!”

“Oh, my!” cried the boy who had Donald’s toy. “I’m going to run!”

And run both boys did. But still the policeman came on. Now, as a matter of fact, the policeman was not after the boys at all. He was hurrying down the street to go home to his dinner, and he did not know the boys had stolen the Dog. But the boys thought he was after them, and so they ran.

Down a lane that led to the country fled the boy with the Woolly Dog, and still the policeman came on, for he lived in that neighborhood.

“He’s going to catch you,” said the boy who had not taken the Dog.

“Well, I’ll get rid of this,” cried the other, and he gave the Woolly Dog a toss over the fence. Then the two boys ran on and hid themselves in a wood, but the policeman turned into his house to get his dinner.

“Oh, dear me! This is terrible!” thought the Woolly Dog, when he felt himself being taken away by the bad boy. “And this is worse,” thought the Dog, as he felt himself flung over the fence. Then, as he landed down inside what seemed to be a box, he barked: “And this is the worst of all!”

Well might he say that, for he had been thrown into a hive of bees!

CHAPTER VIII
RIDING DOWN HILL

There was a little farm in the country not far from Donald’s home, and the farmer kept a few hives of bees for the honey they made. This farmer happened to be out working among his bees when the boy who had stolen the Woolly Dog ran past. And when the boy, to get rid of the Dog, threw the toy over the fence, why, Donald’s plaything fell right into an open hive of the honey-making and stinging insects.

For bees can sting as well as make honey, you know.

“Yes, this certainly is the worst of all my adventures!” thought the Woolly Dog, as he found himself among the crawling bees. “It is even worse than when Jane cut me open with the scissors and I was sewed up again. Oh, what a tickling feeling!”

Well might the Woolly Dog say this, for now he was being tickled on the outside by the bees crawling over him, and he already had a tickling feeling inside, though from what he did not know.

“These bees will sting me to death!” thought the Woolly Dog. “They certainly will sting me to death! I heard one of the animals, in the Noah’s Ark that Donald has, talking about bees. I think it was the Wooden Elephant. He said bees were dreadful stingers.”

As for the bees they were much excited. They always grew excited when the farmer took the top off their hive, as he had just done, to get some of the honey for himself. Here and there crawled the buzzing, humming bees. They had a Queen, and the Queen called:

“What is this that has fallen among us? If it is anyone but the kind farmer after our honey, just sting him, my children! We will not sting the farmer, for he is kind to us and puts us in a warm place in winter. But if it is anyone else, sting him!”

“It is someone else, Your Majesty,” answered a busy bee. “This creature is large and fuzzy—not as large as the farmer but more fuzzy.”

“Sting him!” ordered the Queen bee.

“Oh, please don’t sting me!” begged the Woolly Dog.

“Stop! Wait a minute!” commanded the Queen. “The creature speaks our language. Perhaps he means no harm,” for the Dog, you see, had spoken the language of animals and insects, there being no human beings there to spy on him.

“Certainly I mean you no harm,” barked the Woolly Dog. “I am sorry if I disturbed you, but I couldn’t help it. A bad boy tossed me in among you.”

By this time a number of the strongest bees had gotten ready to sting the Woolly Dog in answer to their Queen’s command, but now Her Majesty, who was a longer, thinner bee than any of the others, walked daintily toward the Woolly Dog.

“What a queer creature he is, to be sure,” said the Queen. “So very large and fuzzy, as you said, my children. Not as large as the farmer, but truly much more fuzzy.”

“Big as he is, Your Majesty,” growled one of the worker bees, “we can all sting him if you say so. But it will be hard work. His fuzzy coat of wool will tangle in our legs. But we can sting him on his nose—he has no fuzz there.”

“Oh, don’t sting me on my nose! Don’t, please, sting me on my nose!” howled the Woolly Dog, and he began hiding his nose down in his paws.

“No, don’t sting him,” ordered the Queen. “He is one of us. But I must ask you, Mr. Woolly Dog,” she went on, “please to get out of our hive, for you are in the way. I don’t want to be impolite, but you are in the way.”

“Oh, I’ll get out fast enough, I promise you,” said the Dog, but he wondered how in the world he was ever going to get back to Donald’s house all by himself. Here was a dreadful adventure!

The Woolly Dog was about to jump out of the beehive when suddenly the Queen called:

“Here comes the farmer!”

Then the Dog knew he dared not move, for that was not allowed when human eyes saw him.

Up came the farmer to put the cover back on the beehive, after having taken out what honey he wanted. The farmer looked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.

“Well, bless my stars!” he exclaimed. “A toy Woolly Dog in my beehive! I wonder how it got there? Some children must have been out here playing while I was in the house, and they tossed their dog there. It’s a wonder they weren’t stung. Well, unless I want a honey Dog, I’d better take him out.”

The farmer lifted the Woolly Dog from the hive and laid him on the ground. Then the top of the beehive, or house, was put in place, and the bees began working again at gathering more honey for the man. The Queen bee started to lay more eggs to hatch out more bees, and she laughed to herself as she thought of the visitor to her hive.

“He certainly was a queer chap—so fuzzy,” hummed the Queen. “And how he would have howled if my children had stung him on his little black nose. But perhaps it is just as well they didn’t.”

So the Woolly Dog got through that adventure rather well, I think, but still he was far from home—that is, far for him, as he was not as large as a real dog.

“I’ll take you up to the house,” said the farmer, talking to himself, but looking at Donald’s toy. “You are a pretty handsome toy,” he bee-keeper went on. “But you must have been in a war,” he added, with a laugh, as he turned the Dog over and saw where he had been cut and sewed up. “Yes, you certainly must have been in a war!”

As the farmer reached the house, his wife came out with a basket of eggs. She saw in his hand the Woolly Dog.

“Where did you get that?” asked the farmer’s wife, in surprise.

“I found it in one of my beehives. Put it away until Mary comes to visit us and we’ll give it to her baby.”

“No, indeed!” exclaimed his wife. “Why, that Woolly Dog belongs to Donald Cressey!”

“Not the Cressey we sell eggs and honey to?” cried the farmer, in surprise.

“Yes, the very same one,” said his wife. “I remember the last time I took eggs there I saw Donald playing with his Dog. His uncle, Mr. Blakeley, gave it to him.”

“Well, if this is Donald’s Dog I don’t want it,” said the farmer. “I wonder how it got in my beehive, though. Do you think Donald is around here?”

“No; I’m sure he wouldn’t come away out here alone, and none of his folks has been here. But I am going to his house now with these eggs, and I’ll take the Woolly Dog back.”

“All right,” agreed the farmer, and the Woolly Dog was placed in the basket of eggs. He was so soft and fluffy that he did not break a one, even though he bounced around on them as the farmer’s wife drove to town in the donkey cart. The place where the bees were kept was a little way beyond the suburb of the city in which Donald lived.

“More adventures!” thought the Woolly Dog, as he was jiggled and joggled about on the eggs in the basket. “Will they never end? And that ticklish feeling inside me—I wonder if it could have been caused by the bees’ legs? No, it couldn’t! For I felt ticklish inside before that bad boy tossed me into the beehive. And, anyhow, the bees tickled me on the outside, not on the inside. Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose.”

You can imagine how surprised Donald and his sister were when the “Egg Lady,” as they called the farmer’s wife, brought back the Woolly Dog. Donald had missed his plaything from the porch on coming back after having gone to see the hand-organ man and monkey, and when he told his mother what had happened she said:

“Someone must have come in and have taken your dog,” for Susan did not remember having picked it up with the other toys.

“But how it got in our beehive, we can’t guess,” said the “Egg Lady.”

“Some boy must have taken it off our porch and then have gotten tired of carrying the Dog,” said Mrs. Cressey. “Then he tossed him over the fence.” And that is just the way it happened, except that the bad boy was afraid of the policeman, and that’s why he threw away the Woolly Dog.

Anyhow, the Dog was back home again, and much pleased to be there, too. That night, when he was put in the playroom with the other toys, the Woolly Dog told of his adventure, and all the others listened eagerly.

From then on, nearly every day, something happened to the Woolly Dog, with whom Donald liked to play. Once Donald took the Dog for a sail on a board raft in a puddle of water and the Dog fell in.

“Oh, he’s drowned!” cried Donald, but another boy fished out the Dog and Mrs. Cressey washed him clean and dried him by the stove.

Another time a real dog ran into the yard, picked up the Woolly Dog and started to run away with him. But Donald and Jane chased the real dog and got back the Woolly Dog.

Summer passed and fall came, bringing new adventures to the toy Dog. Then winter, with its snow and ice, arrived.

“Hurray! Now we can ride down hill on our sleds!” cried Donald and Jane, after the first snow.

“I’m going to take my Dog,” said Donald.

“Don’t lose him,” cautioned his mother.

“I won’t,” promised Donald. But he did. He had the Woolly Dog on his sled with him, and, in steering around a curve, the sled upset and Donald fell off. But this was not the worst: The Woolly Dog was tossed into a big bank of soft snow!

Deep down into the snowdrift sank the Woolly Dog, out of sight, growing colder and colder all the while.

CHAPTER IX
THE LOST IS FOUND

“Look at Donald! Look at Donald!” laughingly shouted the other children who were coasting on the hill. “Donald fell off his sled!”

“I don’t care! It was fun!” and Donald also laughed. “Did you see me roll over?” he asked.

“Yes, we saw you,” replied the other boys and girls.

“Did you get hurt?” asked Jane.

“No, it was fun,” said Donald.

“Then I’m going to do it!” announced his sister. “I’m going to ride down hill and upset the way you did, Don.” Jane was very venturesome as well as mischievous.

“No, you mustn’t do it!” Donald said. “Mother wouldn’t like it. She might make us come in. Don’t upset, Jane.”

“All right, I won’t—not on purpose,” she answered, with a laugh. “But if I happen to I can’t help it,” she added. “Can I?” Jane had gotten over speaking “baby talk.”

And, really, I believe Jane would have been glad to upset off her sled as Donald had done, and she might have given herself a little push to bring this about, but that she happened to notice that her brother did not have the Woolly Dog after he had picked himself up, following the upset.

“Oh, where is he?” cried Jane.

“Who?” inquired Donald.

“The Woolly Dog you had riding with you. He’s gone!”

Then, for the first time since the accident, Donald noticed that his birthday toy was missing.

“He was on my sled in front of me,” he said. “He must have fallen off when I went around the curve.”

“Come on, I’ll help you look for him,” offered Jane.

But though she and Donald and the other children searched all around in the snow for the Woolly Dog they could not find him. He had been tossed off the overturned sled and had bounced into the middle of a snow bank some distance away, falling deep down into the soft pile of flakes. The children did not see him at all.

“Burr-r-r-r! But it’s cold!” shivered the Woolly Dog, as he found himself in the midst of the snowdrift. “Oh, what a dreadful adventure this is going to be! It’s worse than falling into the mud puddle and it’s almost as bad as being cut and sewed up again! I wonder what is going to happen to me?”

The Woolly Dog did not know. He could hear Donald, Jane and the other boys and girls talking as they searched for him. The Woolly Dog wished he might call out and tell them where he was so they could lift him from his cold, white bed among the flakes of snow, but this was not allowed. He could not move or speak when human beings were present.

“But it certainly is dreadfully cold here!” whined the Woolly Dog to himself. “Oh, burr-r-r-r! It’s freezing!”

It was a good thing he was covered with warm lamb’s wool. If he had been one of those skinny dogs, like a greyhound or a Mexican hairless terrier, I’m sure our friend would have frozen stiff in a few minutes. But, being a Woolly Dog, or “fuzzy,” as the Queen Bee had called him, this kept him warmer.

“Oh, but my nose is so cold!” sighed the Woolly Dog, and that, not being covered with wool, was very frosty indeed. Of course, you know a real dog’s nose should always be cold. When your dog’s nose is warm it is a sign that he is ill and has a fever. But when the Woolly Dog’s nose was cold, that was a sign he was frosty.

“I’ll try to warm it,” he said to himself. And, being out of sight among the snowflakes, he put his cold little black nose down between his paws. Then it felt a little warmer and he listened to hear what was going on. He heard no sound.

Donald, Jane and the other children, having searched for the Woolly Dog without finding him, saw that it was getting late, and they ran home. Donald was almost ready to cry over his lost toy, for he liked the Woolly Dog very much.

“Never mind,” consoled Jane, “maybe Uncle Teddy will buy you another, just as Daddy is going to buy Mother another diamond ring for the one she lost.”

“I don’t want a new Woolly Dog! I want my old one!” exclaimed Donald.

In this he was like his mother, who wanted her engagement ring back, and not a new one. But the lost diamond had never been found.

Donald, almost in tears, told his mother of the accident on the hill and about his lost Woolly Dog.

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Cressey, “to-morrow I’ll go out there with you, when it’s daylight, and perhaps we shall find him.”

But Donald was a sad little boy when he went to bed that night.

Meanwhile we must see what is happening to the Woolly Dog. For some time he lay there in the snow, warming his cold nose. Then, as the voices of the children grew quiet—for they had gone away—the Dog said:

“Perhaps I can wiggle out of here. No one can see me now.”

He kicked around in the snow with his paws, but all he did was to toss snow up his nose, and this made him sneeze. And when he sneezed it made the tickling feeling inside him grow worse, so that he wanted to laugh and scratch and sneeze, all at the same time. And this, I think you will agree with me, is too much for any Dog, Woolly or not.

“No use! I can’t get out of here!” sighed the Woolly Dog. But still he did not give up. He was kicking around a bit more when, suddenly, he heard a voice saying:

“Here’s a hole in the snow! Maybe a rabbit went down here!”

“It’s a boy!” thought the Woolly Dog. “But it doesn’t sound like Donald.”

Nor was it. A strange boy, walking along near the coasting hill, had seen the hole which the Woolly Dog had made when tossed into the drift. Thinking it was a place where a rabbit had dived in, the boy went closer to look. Then he saw the Dog.

“Yes, it is a rabbit!” cried the boy. “And he isn’t moving! I guess he’s frozen! I’ll take him home.”

The Woolly Dog, being white, looked a little like a rabbit—that is, at first glance. But when the boy reached his arm down in the snow bank and pulled up the object, he saw what it was.

“Oh, only a toy dog!” cried the boy. “But I’ll take him home! He’s a dandy!

“Mother, look what I found!” cried the boy, whose name was Frank, as he hurried into the house, carrying the Woolly Dog. “Look!”

“Where did you get it, Frank?”

“In a snowdrift. He was down in a hole on the coasting hill.”

“Then some little child playing there must have lost the toy,” said Frank’s mother. “And whoever it was will feel bad about it. If you knew who owned the Dog, Frank, you could take it to him.”

“Yes, and if it was in a rich family maybe they’d give me a reward—a lot of money!” cried Frank, for he and his mother were poor.

“You shouldn’t want a reward for doing what is right,” said Mrs. Ward. “But as we don’t know to whom the Dog belongs, put him on the mantel over the stove to dry. You’re too big to play with such toys.”

“Yes, I don’t want him for myself,” answered Frank. “But I’m glad I found him.”

The Woolly Dog was glad, too, and he felt much better up over the warm stove than down in the cold snowdrift. All night the Woolly Dog stood on the mantel. There were no other toys for him to speak to or play with. There was a match box, in the shape of an Alligator, but the Alligator’s head was broken off and he could not talk.

“It is very lonesome here,” said the Woolly Dog aloud, in the middle of the night.

“Tick-tock! Tick-tock!” went the clock.

“Oh, I can’t talk to you,” sighed the Dog, “for you only say the same thing over and over again.” And this was true. A clock is one of the most tiresome beings in the world to talk to, and it is so busy that it never has time to play—it goes “tick-tock” all the while.

“I can see I am not going to have a very good time here,” said the Woolly Dog. “There was more fun back in the store with the poor toys.”

But still he had a few adventures. Once he fell off the mantel into the scuttle of coal when a door slammed too hard, and Mrs. Ward had to put him in one of her tubs of suds to wash him. Mrs. Ward did washing to make a living, and Frank worked in a store. Another time the Woolly Dog was placed in a dark closet out of the way, and there a big Rat got hold of him, thinking he was something good to eat.

“Oh, bah! You’re only stuffed with cotton!” snarled the Rat, after he had tried to drag the Woolly Dog into its hole. “I can’t eat you!”

“I’m glad of it,” said the Woolly Dog.

“You’re Only Stuffed With Cotton!” Snarled the Rat.

The Story of a Woolly Dog.

Page 106

The Rat left the Woolly Dog on the floor of the closet and went in search of something else to gnaw. The next morning Frank, looking for his rubbers, as it was raining, saw the Dog.

“I’ll put you back on the mantel,” said the boy. “I wish I knew who owned you, as they must miss you.”

For over a week the Woolly Dog remained in the home of Mrs. Ward, and a very lonesome week it was, for no one played with the toy. The Woolly Dog was growing very sad.

Then, one day, he heard outside a voice he well knew. The voice asked:

“Will you have time to do some extra washing this week, Mrs. Ward?”

“Yes, Mrs. Cressey, I think so,” answered Frank’s mother. “Won’t you come in for a moment and get warm?”

“Thank you, I will,” and Donald’s mother, who had come to see about getting the washing done, entered the very room where the Woolly Dog stood on the mantel.

In another instant Donald’s mother saw the Dog. Her eyes opened wide with wonder.

“Oh, where did you get that?” she cried.

“What?” asked Mrs. Ward.

“That Woolly Dog! It belongs to Donald—at least, I’m sure it’s the same one he lost in a snow bank. I can easily tell by looking. If it’s Donald’s Dog it will have an extra seam underneath where I sewed him up after Jane cut him open.”

Mrs. Ward lifted the Woolly Dog down.

“Oh,” thought the birthday toy, “suppose she can’t find that seam? Then she won’t know me and I’ll never get back home again!”

CHAPTER X
A STRANGE DISCOVERY

Donald’s mother slowly turned over the Woolly Dog. She looked carefully at the under side of his stomach.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, “it’s the same Dog. I know my stitches very well. This is Donald’s toy! I suppose you won’t mind my taking it?” she asked.

“Oh, not at all,” answered Mrs. Ward. “Frank found him in a snow bank——”

“Just where Donald lost him off his sled, I suppose!” exclaimed Mrs. Cressey.

“And he brought the toy home here,” went on Mrs. Ward. “Frank is too big for such playthings, and he often said he wished he knew to whom the Dog belonged. I’m so glad you have found him.”

“Donald will be glad, also,” said Mrs. Cressey.

She talked a little longer, arranging a day for Mrs. Ward to come and wash, and then Donald’s mother said:

“I want to reward Frank in some way. I know he is fond of reading, for he told me so one day when he was doing errands for me. I have some books I’d like to give him.”

“That will please him,” said Mrs. Ward. “He likes books much better than a Woolly Dog.”

“Well, everything seems to be turning out for the best,” thought the Woolly Dog, as Mrs. Cressey took him home. “If I could get rid of that ticklish feeling inside me I’d be very happy. But then one mustn’t complain of small troubles. I’ve gotten over some big ones—the beehive and the snow bank.”

Donald was very glad to get his Woolly Dog back.

“Oh, look, Jane!” he cried when his mother gave him his lost birthday plaything. “My Woolly Dog has come home!”

“Where was he?” asked Jane.

Mrs. Cressey told where she had, by the merest accident, found the Woolly Dog, and Donald and his sister smoothed out his rumpled woolly coat, for he had been sadly mussed when the Rat dragged him along in the closet.

“Oh, Don, I know what we ought to do!” cried Jane.

“What?” asked her brother.

“We ought to have a little play party for your Woolly Dog,” went on Jane. “Always when somebody comes back after they been away they have a party.”

“Yes, that’ll be fun,” answered the little boy.

The children ran to their mother.

“May we have a party?” begged Donald.

“For his Woolly Dog,” explained Jane. “He ought to have a party because he was lost and now he’s home again.”

“Just a little party,” begged Donald.

“Oh, I guess so!” laughed Mrs. Cressey.

And so the party was arranged for. After some talk Mrs. Cressey suggested that it would be nice to make it a “toy party”—that is, each boy and girl who came should bring his or her favorite toy. And when this was told to Donald and Jane they clapped their hands in delight.

The invitations were sent out. Dorothy was to come with her Sawdust Doll and Dick with his White Rocking Horse. Sidney would bring his Calico Clown, Herbert his Monkey on a Stick, Madeline her Candy Rabbit, Arnold his Tin Soldier and Mirabell her Lamb on Wheels. There were to be other toys—the China Cat, the Stuffed Elephant and many more.

“Oh, what a fine time we’ll have!” laughingly cried Jane.

“And there’s to be a cake with candles on!” exclaimed Donald. “For, as the Woolly Dog was my birthday present, this is a birthday party—sort of.”

At last the afternoon of the party came, and with it arrived the boys and girls with their toys and playthings. The Woolly Dog was given a place of honor, standing on a box in the middle of the table, next to the cake with its blazing candles.

“This party is for my Woolly Dog,” explained Donald to his guests.

“Hurray for the Woolly Dog!” cried Herbert, and the boys and girls gave three cheers.

The Woolly Dog wanted to thank them, but he dared not. However, he tried not to feel proud as all the other toys looked at him. But it was a great honor—all the toys said so later on.

Oh, but such fun as there was at the Woolly Dog’s party! And then, all of a sudden, something happened.

Just how, no one knew, but the Woolly Dog fell over against the party cake and one of the blazing candles set fire to his wool. It began to smoke and singe.

“Oh, your Woolly Dog’s on fire!” shouted Arnold.

“If I only had my toy fire engine I could put it out!” cried Sidney.

But at the word “fire,” Mrs. Cressey rushed in. She saw at once what had happened, and caught up the Woolly Dog. Quickly she rolled him in a thick rug on the floor, thus smothering the flames. The fire was out almost before it started.

But when Mrs. Cressey unrolled the Woolly Dog from the rug he was a sad sight. Underneath, on his stomach, there was a black and burned patch.

“Oh, I shall die! I know I shall die!” thought the Woolly Dog. “This is certainly the end of me!”

Donald saw what had happened to his plaything.

“Oh, my poor Woolly Dog!” he cried. “He’s no good any more!”

“Oh, yes, I can fix him,” said Mrs. Cressey. “I have a piece of white lamb’s wool up in the sewing room. I’ll cut off the burned part and sew on a new piece. Then your Dog will be as good as ever.”

“May we come up and watch you fix him?” asked Mirabell, who owned a lamb on wheels which had the same kind of wool that was on the Dog.

“Yes, come up to the sewing room,” answered Mrs. Cressey.

With her scissors she cut away the burned wool. The Dog was brave. He never uttered a whimper or a cry as the scissors went snip—snip.

But Mrs. Cressey suddenly exclaimed:

“Oh! Oh, my! What’s this?”

“Did you cut yourself?” asked Donald.

“No. But look what I found inside your Woolly Dog!” answered his mother. “My lost diamond ring! It has been inside the Dog all this while! My ring must have slipped off my finger when I was sewing up your Dog the time Jane cut him, and I sewed my diamond up in the cotton stuffing. Oh, how glad I am! My lost diamond ring is found!”

And there it was, sparkling like a rainbow inside the Woolly Dog. Mrs. Cressey put the ring on her finger, a happy smile was on her face, and she hugged the Woolly Dog.

“I must telephone Daddy,” she said, and when Mr. Cressey heard the good news he, too, was glad.

Then Donald’s mother put the new piece of wool in place of the burned patch, she sewed the Dog together again and gave him to Donald.

“Now we’ll finish the party!” shouted the little boy.

Once again the Woolly Dog was placed in the middle of the table, but this time far enough away from the blazing candles on the cake to be safe. The Calico Clown looked strangely at the Dog. Perhaps the Calico Clown remembered the time his trousers were burned by a gas jet in the toy store.

“Hurray for the Woolly Dog!” cried the children.

“And hurray for Mother’s diamond ring!” shouted Donald.

That night, when the party was over, the Woolly Dog was placed in the playroom with the other toys.

“What has happened to you?” asked the Celluloid Doll. “You look different, somehow or other.”

“I feel different,” was the reply.

“Perhaps it’s the new piece of wool that was sewed on him,” said the Jack-in-the-Box, after the Dog had told of his adventure.

“No, it doesn’t seem to be that,” said the Celluloid Doll.

“I know what makes me look different,” said the Woolly Dog. “It’s because that ticklish feeling is gone. All the while, after Jane cut me open and I was sewed up, I had the queerest feeling. It was as though I itched or tickled on the inside.”

“What made it?” asked the Jumping Jack.

“It was the diamond ring,” answered the Woolly Dog. “That ring inside me kept tickling me all the while. Now that it’s out I no longer feel tickled.”

“That’s good,” said the other toys.

“And I am very happy,” went on the Woolly Dog. “Do you think I shall ever be put in a book?” he asked the Jumping Jack.

“Maybe,” answered the Jumping Jack.

And the Woolly Dog was put in a book. This book is the story of his adventures, and I hope you like it.

THE END

THE STORY LADY SERIES

By GEORGENE FAULKNER

Illustrated. Every Volume Complete in Itself

What child does not love to hear again and again these charming and thrilling tales that have been handed down through the ages from generation to generation—the best liked and the most famous of the world’s myths, legends and fairy lore about animals, birds, witches, fairies, giants, dwarfs and beloved heroes and heroines from many different countries. These are the stories that children read and re-read with wonder and delight. In these volumes they are told in simple, charming language by Georgene Faulkner, known by thousands of youngsters and grown-ups as “The Story Lady.”

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GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK

THE HONEY BUNCH BOOKS

By HELEN LOUISE THORNDYKE

Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations Drawn by

WALTER S. ROGERS

Honey Bunch is a dainty, thoughtful little girl, and to know her is to take her to your heart at once.

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- HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST LITTLE GARDEN
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GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers NEW YORK

Transcriber’s Notes

- pg 64 Changed: diamong ring was highly prized
to: diamond ring was highly prized

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A WOOLLY DOG ***

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Table of Contents

- THE STORY OF A WOOLLY DOG
- CONTENTS
- CHAPTER I POOR TOYS
- CHAPTER II A RICH MAN
- CHAPTER III THE WOOLLY DOG’S NEW HOME
- CHAPTER IV WHAT LITTLE JANE DID
- CHAPTER V A LOST DIAMOND
- CHAPTER VI THE CHINA CAT
- CHAPTER VII IN THE BEEHIVE
- CHAPTER VIII RIDING DOWN HILL
- CHAPTER IX THE LOST IS FOUND
- CHAPTER X A STRANGE DISCOVERY
- Transcriber’s Notes
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE