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Updated: June 11, 2025
And while Mirabell was looking at the new trunk for the Sawdust Doll's clothes, a big dog came running along the street. He saw the white, woolly Lamb near the curbstone. "Oh, ho! Maybe that is good to eat!" thought the dog. And before the Lamb on Wheels could say a word, that dog just picked her up in his mouth and carried her away as a mother cat carries her little ones.
The Sawdust Doll, a Celluloid Doll belonging to Mirabell, and an old snub-nosed Wooden Doll, that Madeline had brought down from the attic, were on the table when Tom took the Candy Rabbit away in his pocket. "Oh-oo-o-oh!" exclaimed the Sawdust Doll. "Look at him!" "Isn't he terrible!" said the Wooden Doll. "If we could only do something to stop him!" sighed the Celluloid Doll.
Look at the girl's eyes, now: they were like a child's or a saint's. Mirabell nodded and looked wise, but said nothing. When the church bells rang Audrey was ready, and she walked to church with Mistress Stagg much as, the night before, she had walked between the lilacs to the green door when the Westover coach had passed from her sight.
Mirabell and Arnold had been told to be very careful whenever they played in the sitting room, if a fire were burning on the open hearth. But, for the moment, the little girl forgot about this. All she thought of was that her Lamb on Wheels might be burned by the blazing paper, which had been set on fire by a spark popping out from the blazing logs on the hearth. "Oh, my Lamb!
He surely wanted to save the fish from being eaten. During the rest of Easter Sunday the children played quietly with their toys. Mirabell and Arnold, the other little boy and girl, came over to Madeline's house with their gifts and every one had a happy time.
But the beans kept on falling about the porch, and one struck a Tin Soldier and knocked him over. This Soldier was a very small chap. He was, in fact, the drummer boy. "But who is shooting the beans at us?" cried Mirabell, as she lay down on the porch behind her Lamb on Wheels. "I don't know who is pegging beans at us," said Arnold, looking around and out toward the street.
"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."
Often in the mornings he would go to the Mirabell Garden to smoke his cigar; there, in stolid contemplation of the statues rows of half-heroic men carrying off half-distressful females he would spend an hour pleasantly, his hat tilted to keep the sun off his nose. The day after Rozsi had fled from him on the stairs, he came there as usual.
Oh, what is going to happen now?" thought the Calico Clown as he felt himself covered up and taken away. "Oh, if I could only tell Mirabell or Arnold I am here. Oh, this is dreadful." But he could do nothing! Away he was taken in the wash-basket. Daddy hurried into the house with Mirabell and Arnold.
"What's the matter?" asked her brother, as he began gathering up the Tin Soldiers. "Why, look at my Lamb on Wheels!" went on Mirabell. "I left her over by the door, and now she has rolled over near the table." "I guess the wind must have blown her," said Arnold. "But the door wasn't open, nor the windows," went on Mirabell. "So how could the wind blow her?
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