The story of a woolly dog

“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?”