Chapter II
THE TREASURE HUNT
There had been a fine racket going on in the toy-cupboard all this while. But by the time Poor Cecco had trotted round to the back of the house and climbed in through the kitchen window, most of the toys had given up thumping and shouting and were sitting still there in the dark, tired out and very cross. Only the noise like a five-finger exercise still kept on. Poor Cecco could hear it quite distinctly as he poked his head through the kitchen window. “Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!”
That was Bulka, the rag puppy. Bulka had been mended and restitched so many times that he had almost lost his original shape and he really looked more like a pin cushion than a dog. He always cried in tune—the tune of a five-finger exercise—which annoyed the rest of the toys so much that they would do anything rather than hear Bulka cry. The worst of it was that, being an extremely sensitive person, he cried far oftener than there was any need to, whenever anything went wrong, for instance, or especially if his feelings were hurt; and then all the other toys were obliged to stuff their fingers in their
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