inside I am only stuffed."

"Dear me! is that so?" asked the dog, opening his mouth and putting the
Lamb down amid a clump of weeds in the vacant lot.

"Yes, it's just as true as I'm telling you," went on the Lamb. "I am
only a toy, though when no human eyes look at me I can move around and
talk, as can all of us toys. But I am not good to eat."

"No, I think you're right about that," said the dog, after smelling of
the Lamb. For that is how dogs tell whether or not a thing is good to
eat--by smelling it.

"You looked so natural," went on the dog, "that I thought you were a
real little Lamb. That's why I carried you off when that little girl
left you and ran away. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"No, you didn't hurt me, but you have carried me a long way from my
home," the Lamb said. "I don't know how I am ever going to get back to
Mirabell."

"Can't you roll along to her on your wheels?" asked the dog. "I haven't
time now to carry you back."

"Not very well," the Lamb answered. "It is very rough going in this lot,
full of weeds and stones. I can easily roll myself along on a smooth
floor, in the toy shop or at Mirabell's home. But it is too hard here."

"Ill leave you here now," barked the dog, "and when it gets dark I'll
come and get you. I'll carry you back to the porch of the house, from in