"No," he said, "this is better. Only I'm glad that I didn't get a chance to run away until I was so big and strong."
His mother sighed, but looked at him proudly.
"You are a brave young goat," she said, "and it would be a shame to keep you shut up in a pen."
In the morning they were a little stiff from their hurts, but Billy was still eager to travel and see the world, so they went on into the mountains. About noon they followed a little ravine down to a plateau where there was a whole herd of chamois. These graceful animals are about the size of a goat, but they are not so heavily built and are much swifter. At first the chamois did not want to let the goats join them, but old Fleetfoot, the leader of the herd, said that they might stay if they were not quarrelsome, but that they would have to look out for themselves if hunters came that way.
This little plateau was a beautiful place, all carpeted with grass and backed up by towering rocks. At one end was a cliff looking out over a valley, at the further end of which was a little village. Billy, in his eagerness to see the world, ran at once to the edge of the cliff.
"You reckless Billy!" cried his mother, running after him. "Don't go so close to that cliff or you will surely fall over and break your neck!"
"I'm not afraid," boasted Billy, and actually stood on his hind legs at the very edge.
Stood on his hind legs at the very edge.
Just then a few loose stones came rolling down the ravine, and like a flash the entire herd of chamois were gone, leaping across a broad chasm to a little ledge upon the other side, where there was a second path that led among the rocks.