The Curlytops stood and looked at their little brother. That was all they could do for a few seconds. It all seemed so very queer and funny. There sat Trouble right in the middle of the hen’s nest, and he had sat down so hard, or rather, the goat had pushed him down so quickly, that many of the eggs were broken.
“I’s a chickie—dat’s what I is,” said Trouble. “An’ I dot a bossy-cow. He’s all mine—I ketched him. He was jumpin’ over de grass like a grasshopper an’ I ketched him. I got him now!”
“Yes, he has got him,” remarked Ted. “It’s a fine goat, too. I wonder whose he is?”
“Dis a bossy-cow, an’ I ketched him,” said Trouble again. “I’s a hen, too, an’ I’s goin’ to have ’ittle chickies!”
“Chickens can’t come out of broken eggs—anyhow not till after the hen sits on ’em and the chickens break the shells themselves,” explained Jan. “I saw a chickie break out of the shell once. But, oh, Trouble! you are such a sight! What will mother say, I wonder?”
“She like de bossy-cow,” answered the little fellow.
“It isn’t a cow. That’s a goat,” said Ted. “And it’s a wonder he didn’t butt you and hurt you.”
“I guess he’s tame,” remarked Jan. “He looks like a nice goat.”
Ted went up to the animal Trouble was holding by the horns and patted it. The goat made a soft bleating sound, like a sheep, and seemed to like being rubbed.
“He is a nice goat,” went on Ted. “I wish we could keep him.”