“I named him that,” explained Ted. “He ate so many things when we were riding Trouble home on his back—grass, weeds, some paper from an old tin can. It was just like the nicknack crackers you buy in the store—all different kinds. So I called him Nicknack.”
“It’s a nice name,” said Janet. “We call our goat Nicknack.”
“Better wait until you’re sure he’s yours,” suggested her father.
“Oh, I guess they can keep him,” put in Grandpa Martin.
And he was right. Mr. Emery had no use for the goat. The family who had left him could not be found, having moved far away, and, as Grandpa Martin said, there was plenty of room at Cherry Farm for the goat.
“Well, our Curlytops have been here only one night,” said Mother Martin the next morning, “and they’ve found a goat. If they keep this up, by the time we leave Cherry Farm, we’ll have a regular circus.”
“Never mind, as long as they have a good time,” returned her husband, smiling.
The children, even Trouble, were out before breakfast to look at the goat that had been put in a colt’s box stall for the night. Nicknack was glad to see his little friends, and bleated softly as they opened the door of his new home. One of the farm hands had given him some hay and oats to eat.
“And now to build the goat wagon,” said Ted, after breakfast. “May we take some old boards and wheels if we can find them in the barn, Grandpa?”
“Yes, take anything you like.”