“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.