Johnnie-goat, of course, was filled with amazement at these strange proceedings, and his shrill “ba-a’s” went all over the house. Sarah and Jane dragged him, struggling fiercely, along the basement hall to the stairs. Then Sarah, getting him by his wrathful horns, and Jane pushing from behind, wherever she could get hold, puffing and panting, they propelled bewildered Johnnie-goat remorselessly up the stairway, his sharp little hoofs beating a strongly rebellious tattoo as he went, bleating like a whole ranch of goats.
Over the stair-railing, on the upper floor, hung five eager faces, each of the older ones calling out different suggestions, while Zaidie, her mumps all forgotten, shrieked hoarse applause to them all. As Eliza was out with Helen and Kenneth, they missed all this exciting time.
Arriving on the second floor, panting Sarah was obliged to sit down on the stairs to rest. She threw her apron over Johnnie-goat’s head, thereby reducing him to a still wilder state of amazement, and hugged his neck tightly under her arm to keep him quiet.
“Hould on to his hinder-legs, Jane,” she directed, and Jane immediately got hold of each wildly kicking hind leg. As Johnnie-goat was obliged to use his fore legs to stand on, he was, for the first time in his life, reduced to a condition of ignominious surrender. His vociferous cries filled the house.
The children, up-stairs, were in shrieks of laughter. Sarah looked as grimly determined as if she were attacking a tramp. She strongly disapproved of the whole proceeding, but, as is often the case with the servants in a large household of children, she was absolute devotion to the whole tribe, and if they had ordered it, would have attempted to walk up the side of the house. Jane was doubled up with laughter, and with difficulty held on to her end of the captive. Sarah kept up a running comment.
“Be still, you slathery spalpeen; stop kickin’ me. Ye’ve kicked me till the futs uv me is black till the knee, I’ll be bound. Rest yerself the while; nobody’s going to hurt yer. Come, then, if yer wants to go, we’ll be off wid yer now. Take another h’ist, Jane. Shure, Masther Don, it’s hopin’ ye’ve got a rope up there I am, else it’s tearin’ yez all to pieces he’ll be.”
“Come on,” shouted Donald, boyishly; “bring on your plunder. I’ve got a trunk-strap to fasten him with.” Donald dived into the trunk-room, and reappeared with a long strap.
“Oh, my goodness, how he wiggles!” cried Zaidie, clapping her hands ecstatically, as the procession started up-stairs again. “Johnnie-goat! Johnnie-goat! keep still, and let Sarah carry you, there’s a good goatie!”
And thus, pushed and pulled, Johnnie-goat, bewildered and indignant, was delivered into Donald’s hands, and the hot and panting maids returned down-stairs.
Donald fastened the long strap to his collar, and then to the balustrade. Being released from durance vile—that is, from his enforced retreat under Sarah’s strong arm,—he shook himself vigorously, and then straightway executed a war-dance, first on his hind legs and then on his fore legs, and then, apparently, on one at a time, alternating the performance with a succession of dives and butts that sent the children shrieking and laughing in all directions out of his way.