“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?”