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“Where is the Nodding Donkey?” asked the Lion. “Why is he not here with us?”

“I hope he hasn’t become too proud, because he is a new, shiny toy and we are old and battered,” said the Tiger sadly.

“Nonsense!” rumbled the Elephant. “The Nodding Donkey is not that kind of toy. He would be here if he could. Some accident has happened, you may depend on it.”

“Well, I’m glad my train didn’t run over him,” said the Engineer of the toy locomotive.

“It was some kind of accident, I’m sure,” insisted the Elephant. “I heard Joe cry out, and his mother came running downstairs.”

And it was an accident, as you know. All night the Nodding Donkey lay on the shelf in the dining room. He had no other toys to talk to, and perhaps it was just as well, for he did not feel like talking with his broken leg hurting him as it did.

Early the next morning Mr. Richmond was on his way to the office, taking the Nodding Donkey with him.

“Let me see him once more before you take him to the toy shop to be fixed!” begged Joe, who had been told what was to be done with his plaything.

Joe’s father put the Nodding Donkey into his son’s hands.

“Poor fellow!” murmured Joe, gently touching the broken leg. “You are a cripple like me, now. I hope they make you well again.”

Then, with another kind pat, Joe gave the Donkey back to his father, and, a little later, Mr. Richmond walked into Mr. Mugg’s store with the toy.

“Hum! Yes, that is a bad break, but I think I can fix it,” said the jolly old gentleman.

“Let me see,” begged Miss Angelina, peering over her father’s shoulder, with a dustbrush under her arm. She had been dusting the toys ready for the day’s business.

“The leg isn’t broken all the way off,” said Miss Geraldine, who was washing the face of a China Doll, that, somehow or other, had fallen in the dust.

“Yes, that is a good thing,” observed Mr. Mugg. “I can glue the parts together and the Donkey will be as strong as ever. Leave it here, Mr. Richmond. I’ll fix it.”

“And may I have it back this week?” asked the other. “My boy is going to the hospital to have his legs made strong, if possible, and I think he would like to take the Donkey with him.”

“You may have it day after to-morrow,” promised the toy man.

The Nodding Donkey was still in such pain from his broken leg that he did not pay much attention to the other toys in the store. But Mr. Mugg lost no time in getting to work on the broken toy.

“Heat me the pot of glue, Geraldine,” he called to his daughter, “and get me some paint and varnish. When I mend the broken leg I’ll paint over the splintered place, so it will not show.”

The Nodding Donkey was taken to a work bench. Mr. Mugg, wearing a long apron and a cap, just like the workmen in the shop of Santa Claus, sat down to begin.

With tiny pieces of wood, put in the broken leg to make it as strong as the others that were not broken, with hot, sticky glue, and with strands of silk thread, Mr. Mugg worked on the Nodding Donkey. The toy felt like braying out as loudly as he could when he felt the hot glue on his leg, but he was not permitted to do this, since Mr. Mugg was looking at him. So he had to keep silent, and in the end he felt much better.

“There, I think you will do now,” said Mr. Mugg, as he tightly bound some bandages on the Donkey’s leg. “When it gets dry I will paint it over and it will look as good as new.”

The mended Donkey was set aside on a shelf by himself, and not among the toys that were for sale. All day and all night long he remained there. He was feeling too upset and in too much pain to be lonesome. All he wished for was to be better.