Oh, get me in time for the Big Parade!
Oh, hurry up faster, for I am afraid
I’ll surely go crazy if we are delayed!”
My goodness! how that Billy Goat Coach rolled over the pebbles and over the stones. And how those billy goats pranced and threw out their heels, shook their heads and their long horns.
“Gid-ap!” barked the Old Dog Driver.
“Let ’er go!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky.
Away, faster than ever, and faster still, went the billy goats up the big steep hill, and down the other side to Rabbitville.
Along Lettuce Avenue they clattered, past the Three-in-One Cent Store, past the Welsh Rarebit Club and the Post Office, from the doorway of which the Old Maid Grasshopper waved a white pocket handkerchief; past the Old Mill where the Dusty Moth Miller ground the corn for the farmer bunnies; past the house of Dr. Quack, the famous duck doctor, and the little green house in which Mrs. Mouse lived.
Dear me! I could go on and on just like the old coach, and say so much that I’d have no room to put in what happened when it finally drew up in Turnip City.
“Whoa there, my good little billy goats!” shouted the Old Dog Driver, as the big Policeman Dog held up his paw to stop the taxis and wagons until everybody was safe on the sidewalk. Then the Old Dog Driver gave the billy goats a nice drink of water at the fountain and drove around to the wagon entrance on Cabbage Street.