The goat bleated forlornly as they seized upon him; he was quite all the two girls could lift, and they actually had to drag him up the steeper part of the hill by his legs.
Their friends below chaffed them a good deal, for it was a ridiculous sight. Soon, however, Wyn and Frank got their awkward burden to the mouth of an easily sloping gully, that led toward the interior of the island. As soon as he could, the animal scrambled upon his feet.
Once firmly set, however, this ungrateful goat’s temper changed most surprisingly. Or he may have felt that his dignity had been ruffled by the treatment he had received at the hands of his rescuers.
So he began stamping his little sharp hoofs and lowered his head, shaking the latter threateningly.
“What did I tell you?” called Bess, from below. “Next you two sillies know he’ll butt you.”
“Oh, come along, Wyn!” gasped Frankie. “Plague the goat, anyway!” as she dodged the enraged animal’s first charge.
The goat was headed up the gully, away from the shore, or he might have gone head first into the lake again. As the girls escaped him, Wyn, laughing immoderately, looked back. A big beech tree cropped out of the bank not far away, and under this tree she descried a figure lying.
“Oh, Frank!” she cried.
Her friend turned and saw the figure, too.
“Oh, Wyn!”