"I have taken such a fancy to this goat;--you won't give it to me?"
"No, that I won't."
She twisted herself, looked down upon him, and said: "But if I give you a butter biscuit, can I get the goat?"
Ovind was of poor folk, he had only eaten butter biscuit once in his life, that was when his grandfather came, and the like he had never tasted before or since. "Let me first see the biscuit," said he.
She held up a large one--"Here it is!"--and tossed it down.
"Oh! it's broken!" said the boy, and he carefully gathered up every crumb;--the smallest bit he must taste, and it was so good that he must take just another, and another, till before he knew it, the whole biscuit was gone.
"Now the goat is mine," said the little girl.
The boy stopped with the last bit in his mouth. The girl sat and smiled, the goat standing by her side, with his white breast and dark brown shaggy hair.
"Couldn't you wait for a while?" begged the boy, and his heart began to beat.
Then the little girl laughed the more, and rose up on her knees. "No--the goat is mine," said she, and threw her arm round his neck, untied her garter, and bound it round.