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?”
[Illustration: 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?”