“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.”