CHAPTER XVI
TRAVELLING WITH A BILLY-GOAT
Would you believe it? Karsten got a live billy-goat as a present from Mother Goodfields, and I got a live wild forest-cat from Jens Kverum's mother. Of course I wanted something alive since Karsten had the goat, so I begged and teased Agnete Kverum until she finally said I might have the yellow-brown cat I wanted. Not that I would not rather have had the goat, you may be sure, though naturally I wouldn't let Karsten know that. He was puffed up enough over it, as it was.
Well, anyway, we took both the goat and the cat with us when we went home; but anything so difficult to travel with you can't possibly imagine. Now you shall hear the whole story from first to last; for if anybody else has a desire to take a real live goat or cat with them on the train or into the ladies' cabin of the steamboat, they had better know all the bother and row-de-dow it will make. I advise every one against doing it. All the people who are traveling with you get angry, although it is scarcely to be expected that a billy-goat or a wild cat will behave nicely in a ladies' cabin. At any rate, ours didn't. Listen now.
Mother Goodfields had any number of goats. They were all up at the saeter except two, and these roamed in the forest with the cows, because each of them had an injured leg. But one day one goat was missing and nobody in the world could find it.
Old Kari mourned for it constantly and talked of nothing else. Every day she pictured to herself a new horrible way it had met its death. Either it had got caught in a mountain crevice and starved to death, or a wolf had taken it, or Beata Oppistuen had butchered it without any right to. "That Beata! You could expect any kind of doings from her." Old Kari went to and fro in the forest seeking the goat till far into the night.
But one fine day there on the forest side of the farm fence stood the lost goat with a tiny little baby-goat at her side. And that kid was the prettiest and cunningest you ever set eyes on. It had a soft silky little beard, and it stood on its hind legs and hopped and skipped as if it would jump over into the field.
The cows came and sniffed at it; the other goat, that had stayed at home with them, examined it very particularly; and the little kid danced, zigzag and every which way; and so it was introduced to society, you might say.
How we children ran after that little billy-goat! But Karsten was the worst, for he went to the forest every single day to tend it and brought it home every single night.
"I rather think I shall have to give you that kid," said Mother Goodfields to Karsten one night as he came along carrying it.
From that time Karsten was a changed boy altogether, for he didn't give a thought to the big lake that he had cared so much about all summer. In his brain there was absolutely nothing but that billy-goat. It ate bread and butter and drank out of a teacup; and one night when Mother went up to bed she caught a glimpse of Billy-goat's beard above the blanket beside Karsten's head. Just imagine! Karsten was going to let the kid sleep with him. But Mother put a stop to that and Karsten had to hurry down-stairs and out to the barn with the goat.
Karsten never allowed me to touch Billy-goat and so I wanted to have a pet animal of my own. I considered seriously for a day or two as to whether I should not ask Mother Goodfields for a brown calf that was kept out in the pasture; but one fine morning it was slaughtered, so there was an end to that plan. Then I brought my desire down to Agnete Kverum's cat. It was golden-brown and had long hair and was exactly like a big cosy muff; and in the muff were two great yellow eyes. Whenever I went up to the Kverum place it sat curled together on the door-sill and purred and was perfectly charming. I didn't give Agnete a minute's rest or peace, and so, as you know, I got the cat.
Strangely enough, Mother was not in the least overjoyed when I came back carrying the forest-cat.
"I don't like these presents," said Mother. "There will only be tears and heartbreak when you have to leave them."
"Leave them!" exclaimed Karsten and I in one breath. "Oh, but you know they must go back home with us!"
"The goat is so smart about going up and down stairs," said Karsten. "And it likes to drink out of a teacup and it can perfectly well stay in the hotel garden over night in the city."
"Are you crazy, you two?" said Mother. "It would never do in the world."
But we teased and begged so, that Mother finally said yes—we might take them. For the potato-cellar was full of rats, she said, that the cat might take care of; and you could always get rid of a goat in our town. And I promised that I would hold on to the cat through the whole journey, and Karsten would hold on to the kid, and Mother needn't think they would be any worry or nuisance to her at all. No indeed—far from it.
Well, off we went. When Mother talks of our journey home from the country that time, she both laughs and cries. First we had to drive nearly twenty-five miles. Mother and Karl and Olaug, and the kid and Karsten, and the forest-cat and I, and the hold-all and lunch-basket and bundle of shawls—all were in one carriage. Nobody kept quiet an instant, for Karlie boy wanted to know who lived in every single house along the road, and Olaug whimpered and wanted to eat all the time, and the forest-cat could not by hook or crook be made to stay in any basket, but would sit on the driver's seat and look around; so you see, I had to stand and hold it so it should not fall out of the carriage. And the goat kicked into the air with all its four legs and would not lie in Karsten's lap a minute. You had better believe there was a rumpus!
Mother said afterwards that she just sat and wished that both the cat and the goat would fall out of the carriage; she would then whip up the horse and drive away from them, she was so sick of the whole business.
At last we came to the first place where we were to stay over night. Karsten and I took our pets with us to our rooms. They should not be put into a strange barn and be frightened, poor things! But oh, how those rooms looked in the morning! I can't possibly describe it.
Mother was desperate.
"Do let us get away from this place," she said. "There's no knowing how much I shall have to pay; it will be a costly reckoning, I'll warrant you."
It was.
Well, we all hurried, and flew down to the little steamer. It was cram-jam full of passengers,—ladies who sat with their opera-glasses and were very elegant and looked sideways at you; and sun-burnt gentlemen with tiny little traveling caps. They all looked hard at Karsten and me with our animals in our arms.
The billy-goat bleated and was determined to get down on to the deck, and the cat miaowed and the ladies drew their skirts close and looked indignant.
"Go into the cabin!" said Mother.
Karsten and I scrambled down below with the goat and the cat. There wasn't a living soul there, nothing but bad air and red velvet sofas. We let go of both the goat and the cat. It would be good for them to stir their legs a little, poor creatures!
Pit-pat! pit-pat! Away went the goat to a sofa, and snatched a big bite out of a bouquet of stock that lay there. One long lavender spray hung dangling from Billy-goat's mouth.
"Oh, are you crazy? Catch your goat! Catch your goat!"
But the flowers were gone and the goat was dancing sideways over the cabin floor.
From the sideboard sounded a thud and a horrible rattle te-bang of glass and silver. The cat had sprung right up into a big bowl of cream and all the cream was running down on the sofa.
It is a horrible sight to see two quarts of cream flowing over a red velvet sofa! Oh, how frightened I was!
"Hold the door shut, Karsten!" I said. "I'll try to dry it up."
With shaking hands I tried to mop up the cream with my pocket-handkerchief, while the cat and the kid lapped and drank the cream that trickled down to the floor; and Karsten held the door shut with all his might.
But it was like an ocean of cream. It was impossible—impossible for me to dry it up.
"Oh, Karsten! what shall we do?"
"It was your cat that did it."
"Yes, but your goat ate the stock."
"Let's run away," said Karsten; and carrying the goat and the cat we rushed up the narrow cabin stairs. But, O horrors! There wasn't any sort of a place where we could hide.—And how it did look down in the cabin! And Mother didn't know the least thing about it. O dear! O dear!
"If they only don't throw Billy-goat and the cat overboard!" said Karsten thoughtfully.
"Are you up here again?" called Mother.
"Ye-es."
We ran away out forward, away to the bow of the boat. Usually I think there is nothing so jolly as to sit far, far out in the bow, seeing nothing of the boat back of me, just as if I were gliding forward high up in the air. But to-day it wasn't the least bit jolly, for all that cream down on the sofa was frightful to think of. Karsten and I couldn't talk of anything else. He was angry, however, because I hadn't mopped it up.
"Well, but I couldn't wipe it up with nothing."
"Oh, you could have taken your waterproof or something out of our trunk."
I was really struck by that thought. Perhaps—perhaps I could get hold of something to wipe up all that disgusting cream with. We both got up from the box where we had been sitting. O horrors! There stood the dining-room stewardess facing us. No sight could have been more terrible to me.
"Oh, here you are, are you? Of course it was you who have got things in such a condition in the dining-saloon."
I looked at Karsten and Karsten looked at me.
"Yes, the cat upset the bowl," I said faintly.
"Well, it's a pretty business," said the stewardess. "And we are in a fine fix and no mistake. Dinner spoiled, no more cream for the multerberries, and they're nothing without it, the whole cabin running over with cream, the sofa absolutely ruined, glasses broken,—oh, you'll have a handsome sum to pay! Well, you've got to go to the Captain," and she swaggered across the deck.
But now Mother had heard about it, and she came towards us with a face I can't describe,—and the Captain came; and there Karsten and I stood holding the goat and the cat in our arms.
Oh, it was an awful interview! The Captain wasn't gentle, not he, and Mother had to pay heaps of money.
"There is no sense in traveling with such a menagerie," said the Captain.
The passengers who had nothing but dry multerberries for dessert were certainly angry with us, and Mother was most unhappy. But the cat lay in my lap and blinked with its yellow eyes and purred like far-away thunder,—it was so happy; and Billy-goat rubbed its head with that silky beard against Karsten's jacket and looked up at him with its trustful black eyes; so neither Karsten nor I had the heart to scold. And it wouldn't have done any good, anyway.
At the train, trouble began again, for just imagine! No one knew what the freight charges should be for a kid. The ticket-agent stuck his head out of his window to stare at the innocent little creature, and the station-master pulled at his mustache and stared too; and they turned over page after page in their books and whispered together. At last they made out that the cost would be the same as for a cow. Mother shook her head but paid. (I was glad I had my cat in a basket where no one noticed it, and it slept like a log.)
Since the kid was so very tiny, Karsten was allowed to take it into the compartment with us, for it was absolutely impossible to let that baby go alone into the cattle-car.
"Thank goodness!" said Mother when she finally got us all settled. "Now there are only five hours more of this part of the journey."
Two ladies were in the compartment—one very severe-looking who had a lorgnette, the other fat and jolly, with awfully pretty red cherries on her hat. Little Billy-goat stood on the seat and ate crackers, making a great crunching. The fat lady laughed at it till she shook all over, but the severe lady drew the corners of her mouth down, looking crosser than ever.
Karsten was so glad to have some one admire the kid that he made it do all the tricks it could. However, that was soon over, for it could not do anything except stand on two legs.
Just as it stood there on two legs, with the most innocent face you can imagine, it gave a little leap—oh, oh! up towards the hat of the fat lady; and that very instant the beautiful red cherries crackled in Billy-goat's mouth.
"Oh, my new hat!" screamed the fat lady.
"It is outrageous that one should be liable to such treatment," said the cross lady.
"That's the time you got fooled, Billy-goat!" said Karl, "for you got glass cherries instead of real cherries."
Mother had lost all patience now and no mistake; and the kid had to go under the seat and lie there the whole time. And Mother offered the fat lady some chocolates and some of Mother Goodfields' home-made cakes that we had brought for luncheon, and begged her pardon again and again for Billy-goat's behavior; so that finally the fat lady was a little appeased. The goat had eaten four of the glass cherries and there were eight still left on the hat, so it wasn't wholly spoiled.
The beautiful red cherries crackled in Billy-goat's mouth.—Page 236.
"Well, all I know is I would never have stood it," said the lady with the lorgnette.
The forest-cat behaved beautifully, sleeping the whole time on the train; and we all grew tired, oh! so tired. I couldn't look out of the window at last, I was so utterly tired out. And I did not bother myself about either the cat or the billy-goat.
Finally we rumbled into the city and to the station platform.
But Mother was altogether right in saying that it would never do in the world to have a billy-goat in the city. When we got to the hotel where we were to spend that night, there stood the host at the door. He is a very cross man. When he saw Billy-goat in Karsten's arms he was furious at once. He had not fitted up his rooms for animals, he said, and the goat would please be so good as to keep itself entirely outside of them. So Billy-goat was put into the pitch-dark coal-cellar—and had to stay there the whole night.
When we went down the next morning it stood on two legs and danced sideways from pure joy. But when Karsten took it out into the court, pop! away went the goat over the low fence into the hotel-keeper's garden, then out by an unlatched gate into the wide, wide world.
"No," said Mother firmly, "you may not go to look for it, nor will I ask the police to find it. If I haven't suffered and paid enough for that creature——"
Poor little Billy-goat! It was a sin and a shame that we ever took you away from the forest at Goodfields!