“‘Then I’ll have to bid you good-by,’ replied Mr. Billy-Goat, ‘for I can’t swim a stroke.’
“By this time they had arrived at the bank of the creek, and they could hear Mr. Wolf coming through the woods. They had no time to lose. Mr. Dog looked around on the ground, gathered some jan-weed, yan-weed, and tan-weed, rubbed them together, and squeezed a drop of the juice on Mr. Billy-Goat’s horns. He had no sooner done this than Mr. Billy-Goat was changed into a white rock.
“Then Mr. Dog leaped into the creek and swam across. Mr. Wolf ran to the bank, but there he stopped. The water was so wide it made tears come in his eyes; so deep that it made his legs ache; and so cold that it made his body shiver.
“When Mr. Dog arrived safely on the other side he cried out, ‘Aha! you are afraid! You’ve drowned poor Mr. Billy-Goat, but you are afraid of me. I dare you to fling a rock at me!’
“This made Mr. Wolf so mad that he seized the white rock and threw it at Mr. Dog with all his might. It fell near Mr. Dog, and instantly became Mr. Billy-Goat again. But in falling a piece was broken off, and it happened to be Mr. Billy-Goat’s tail. Ever since then he has had a very short tail.”
“Were you there, Mr. Rabbit?” asked Sweetest Susan bluntly.
“I was fishing at the time,” replied Mr. Rabbit. “I heard the noise they made, and I turned around and saw it just as I’ve told you.”
Drusilla touched Buster John on the arm. “We ain’t dreamin’, is we, honey?”
Buster John looked at her scornfully. “What put that in your head?” he asked.
“Suppose the rock had hit Mr. Dog?” suggested Sweetest Susan.