The story of a woolly dog

by Laura Lee Hope

“Oh, I shall die! I know I shall die!” thought the Woolly Dog. “This is certainly the end of me!”

Donald saw what had happened to his plaything.

“Oh, my poor Woolly Dog!” he cried. “He’s no good any more!”

“Oh, yes, I can fix him,” said Mrs. Cressey. “I have a piece of white lamb’s wool up in the sewing room. I’ll cut off the burned part and sew on a new piece. Then your Dog will be as good as ever.”

“May we come up and watch you fix him?” asked Mirabell, who owned a lamb on wheels which had the same kind of wool that was on the Dog.

“Yes, come up to the sewing room,” answered Mrs. Cressey.

With her scissors she cut away the burned wool. The Dog was brave. He never uttered a whimper or a cry as the scissors went snip—snip.

But Mrs. Cressey suddenly exclaimed:

“Oh! Oh, my! What’s this?”

“Did you cut yourself?” asked Donald.