“He’s mine,” announced Trouble. “He’s a ’ittle bossy-cow, isn’t him?”
“Well, you can call him that,” laughed Jan. “Let go of him, Trouble, and let’s see if he’ll run away.”
Baby William let his chubby hands slip from the goat’s horns, and the animal backed away a few steps but did not leave the place. Instead he came close to Ted and rubbed his little black nose on the boy’s hand.
“He likes you,” said Jan. “Oh, wouldn’t it be great if we could keep him for our own, and hitch him to a pony cart, Ted?”
“A pony cart would be too big. It would have to be a goat cart.”
“I’s got a go-cart at home. We can put de ’ittle goat-bossy-cow in dat an’ div him a wide,” put in Trouble in his own peculiar language.
“Brother Ted means a goat cart—not a baby-carriage go-cart,” explained Jan. “Oh, Trouble, wouldn’t it be nice if we could keep the goat?”
“Yes. Him’s my goat,” said Trouble, but he was more interested just then in himself. He had pulled himself to his feet by taking hold of some of the branches of the bush over his head, and now he turned half around to look at the seat of his little bloomers.
“Oh, Trouble!” cried Ted, laughing, “you look just like a fried egg!”
“Or an omelet!” added Jan. “What shall we do with him?”