“You know goats can climb. They’re very sure-footed,” said her chum.
“I know all that,” admitted Helen. “But I didn’t suppose they could climb trees.”
The goat gave up that attempt, however, very soon. He had no idea, it seemed, of going away and leaving his treed victims in peace.
He paced around and around the cedar, casting wicked glances at the girls’ dangling feet, and shaking his horns in a most threatening way. What he would do to them if he got a chance would “be a-plenty,” Helen declared.
“Don’t you suppose he’ll get tired, bye and bye?” queried her chum, despondently.
“He doesn’t look as though he ever got wearied,” returned Helen. “What a savage looking beast he is! And such whiskers!”
“I wouldn’t make fun of him,” advised Ruth, timidly. “I believe he understands—and it makes him madder! Oh! see him!”
Mr. Goat, impatient of the delay, suddenly charged the tree and banged against it with his horns in a desperate attempt to jar down the girls perched above.
“Oh, the foolish billy!” cooed Helen. “We’re not ripe enough to drop off so easily. But he thinks we are.”
“You can laugh,” complained Ruth. “But I don’t think this is much fun.”