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.