Excerpt: ""Well, he certainly is the finest toy in my little shop, but what good does that do if I can't sell him? His wool is very soft, and he looks so natural that I can almost hear him bark. But, oh dear! if I don't sell him—or sell some of the toys soon—I can't pay my rent and I'll be turned out! Oh, if my boy Jimmie would only come home from the sea with the gold he said he'd bring to me!" A sad-faced, poor, little, old lady moved slowly about a poor little store on a side street. In the small show window were a few notions—pins, needles and thread, and a few toys. On a shelf near the window were other toys. But they were a very poor and cheap lot, made to sell to poor children who had only a few pennies. There were dolls that cost five cents—dolls with only a thin little calico dress on, and nothing else. There were jumping jacks that could be had for as little as three pennies, and there were two-cent tops and one-cent marbles. "The Woolly Dog is the best toy of all," went on Mrs. Clark, who kept the little store. "The agent said I could sell him for a good sum and make money on him. Certainly he is a fine toy and I did not have to pay very much, and, since I gave him a bath and cleaned him, he looks good enough to be in a rich store."