“Just as I told you,” said Eunice, breaking out into a peal of laughter again, as they walked along. “He simply came up and bunted you under the knees, and the first thing I knew, you were on the ground, and then he did it again.”
“Go home, Johnnie-goat,” said Cricket, turning and shaking her finger reproachfully at the goat, who was stalking solemnly on behind, trailing his bit of rope, which, as usual, he had eaten through, in order to make his escape. “You’ve distinguished yourself enough for to-day.”
“If we wanted to, I could call a policeman and have you arrested,” added Eunice.
“I’m ashamed of you, Johnnie-goat, when we’ve always been such friends,” went on Cricket, “and I’ve scratched your head between your horns lots of times, where you can’t reach it yourself. Go straight home and think how sorry you are, and maybe I’ll forgive you,—only you’ll have to behave yourself pretty well, else you won’t stay forgiven.”
Johnnie-goat stood still and meditated a moment. Then, with the air of one who is somewhat bored by circumstances, he turned and wandered slowly back, with a meditative cock to his short tail.
“He always means mischief when he looks mildly and meekly playful like that,” Cricket said, turning to watch him, and to guard against another attack in her rear.
“Cricket, where is your library book?” asked Eunice, presently.
“I don’t know,” said Cricket, stopping short. “Oh, that Johnnie-goat! I dropped it when he butted me, I suppose. We’ll have to go back. It was just around the corner. I hope nobody has picked it up.”
The children turned and quickened their steps. As they went around the corner they saw a knot of little gamins collected further down the street, an evidently excited crowd, but the book lay where Cricket had dropped it a few minutes before.
“What are these boys doing?” asked Cricket, curiously. “I wonder if anything has happened. Just hear them hoot!”