“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.”