Billy Whiskers at Home

by Frances Trego Montgomery

Just then the bee made a dive for his nose, but Billy opened his mouth and swallowed it. But not before the bee had stung his tongue. The pain was terrific, and Billy jumped about as if he had suddenly gone crazy. He stood on his head, rolled in the grass, wheeled round and round on his hind legs and pawed the air with his fore feet, all the while bleating pitifully.

Seeing the goat carrying on in this way, the boys thought he was trying to mimic them, which made them laugh so they could not stand up, for of course they did not know he had been stung. Alas for them! Billy thought they were making sport of his pain, and with a single bound he was upon them, glad of a chance to hurt something as he was being hurt. He kicked, butted and pawed them until he had sent one boy over the fence into the alley, and another was doubled up with his hands over his stomach. Two boys escaped, but the fifth ran toward the kitchen door, Billy in hot pursuit.

The boy had slammed the door in Billy’s face and was running through the house when Billy butted a big hole straight through the screen door. This brought the goat up behind a big, fat cook who had her hands in bread dough. Before she knew what had happened, she felt herself falling backward. To save herself, she grabbed at the bread pan. Of course it slid off the table and she fell on the floor. The bread pan turned upside down over Billy’s horns, and the sticky mass of dough went trickling down over one eye and on down over his nose.

The cook’s screams brought the master of the house from his study to the kitchen, but on arriving at the doorway he was met by an infuriated goat who lowered his head to butt him. On seeing such an adversary, the master made haste to retreat and quickly put the dining table between them. But he was not quite nimble enough for Billy was close on his heels and the chase was on.

Round and round that table they ran, with Billy gaining at every step, Mr. Robinson calling loudly for help. Bridget had collected her wits by this time and came to his rescue with a broom and every time Billy passed her on his way around the table after Mr. Robinson, she gave him a whack with it. Billy paid not the slightest attention to her, as he was much too intent on overtaking Mr. Robinson and giving him one mighty butt. In an ill-fated moment Mr. Robinson’s foot slipped as he rounded one end of the table. He grabbed the table runner to save himself, but that did no good. He fell on one knee, and the table runner carried with it vase, flowers and all, which came tumbling to the floor just in time to fall on Billy’s head. It hurt him not at all, but really did him a good turn as it washed the sticky dough from his horns and eyes, for which he was truly thankful.

This little delay gave Mr. Robinson time to pick himself up and escape through the hall and up the front stairs, which he took two at a time. He rushed to his wife’s room, expecting to find the door unlocked, but alas, it was bolted and he heard his wife calling, “Help! Help! Burglars!” out of the window.

“Mary, Mary!” he shouted. “Let me in! Unbolt the door! It is I, your husband!”

But she was too frightened to recognize his voice, and would not leave the window through which she was leaning to call for help.

Now the door to her room had an extra large transom over it, plenty large enough for a person to climb through, and Mr. Robinson grabbed a stool in the hallway, pushed it under the transom and succeeded in raising himself up on the ledge of the door where he hung balancing himself on his stomach when he heard Billy come clattering up the stairs.

“Mary, Mary, open the door quickly! Stop that calling! Don’t you hear me? It is I, your husband!” he shouted at her again.