The girls had stopped eating, and were listening with eyes as well as ears.
“Yeah, I know, b-but what of it?” Dixie inquired.
The boy’s words fairly tumbled out in his excitement.
“I bet teacher’d like him for a present. I bet she would. Like as not, comin’ from New York City the way she does, she’s never had a goat for a pet, and this one’s awful pretty, with that white star on his black forehead.”
Dixie looked uncertain. “It would be different, but—” she started to protest, when noting her brother’s crestfallen expression, she hastened to add, “Come to think of it, now, a little goat might be lots of company for new teacher, she being so strange and all.
“You go get the goat, Ken, and saddle Pegasus while I tidy up the kitchen and dress Jimmikins. Then we’ll all be ready to start for school.”
“I’ve got an ol’ red ribbon that’ll look handsome on that little goat’s neck,” Carol told them. “That’ll make it look more presentish, seems like.”
“Of course it will, dear. Go get it and give it to Ken, though I guess maybe you’d better tie the bow. You’ve got a real knack at making them pretty.”
The little mother always tried to show appreciation of any talent that might appear, however faintly, in one of her precious brood.
A moment later all was hurry and scurry in the homey kitchen of that old log house, for this was a red-letter morning in the lives of the four little Martins.