After a while the Sawdust Doll heard some one walking toward the kennel. She knew the sound of human footsteps, for she had often heard them in the department store. And she knew it was not the Bold Tin Soldier or the Calico Clown coming toward her now. “I wish it were one of my friends,” thought the Sawdust Doll; “but it cannot be. This person walks just like the watchman in the store. I wonder who it is.” And then a loud but pleasant voice spoke, and a man said: “Well, well! I almost forgot about putting some clean straw in Carlo’s kennel! That straw he has must be all wet with the snow. I’ll rake that out and put in fresh for the dog. It will keep him warmer to-night.” Something long and black, with sharp iron teeth, was thrust into the kennel, and the next moment the straw was raked out, and the Sawdust Doll went with it. Out she came in the midst of the straw. The big gardener, for he it was who was going to give Carlo clean straw, examined what he had raked out. He saw something pink, and, looking at it, he said: “Dear me, what a funny bone! Where could that have come from?” He thought the Sawdust Doll was a bone that Carlo had hidden in the kennel. “Why! Why, it isn’t a bone after all!” exclaimed the gardener, as he picked it up and looked at it more carefully. “It’s a doll! A Sawdust Doll! I wonder where she came from!” and he turned the toy over and over in his hands. CHAPTER VII IN THE RAG-BAG The Sawdust Doll felt much better when the gardener had picked her out of the straw that he had raked from Carlo’s kennel. For, though the Sawdust Doll was only make-believe alive, she knew when real persons handled her. Surely she ought to, for she had been handled enough times since she was first made in the workshop of Santa Claus. “Thank goodness some one has me in charge besides that fuzzy little dog!” said the Sawdust Doll to herself. “I don’t like him at all, though I don’t suppose he really meant to be mean to me. But I’m glad the gardener has me. I hope he likes dolls, and doesn’t throw me into the ash-barrel!” The gardener was not going to do anything like that. He knew a good, new doll when he saw one. And as he looked at the rosily dressed toy in his hands, and then glanced toward the house, the man shook his head. And the Doll stared at the man. “I think some of the boys must have been playing tricks on the girls at the party,” said the gardener. “Some of the boys must have hidden this doll out in the straw. I’m glad I found her. I’ll take her back. Dorothy will know to which little girl she belongs.” So, dropping the rake with which he had been cleaning out Carlo’s kennel, the gardener walked up to the house, and, wiping his feet at the back kitchen door, as he knew the cook did not want her floor made dirty, in the gardener went. The cook was beginning to wash the cake and ice-cream dishes, for the eating part of the party was over.