The story of a woolly dog

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!