Indeed, the goat seemed to be, for no sooner had Freddie got into the wagon again than off Whisker started, walking slowly toward the back of the yard, where there was a gate to a rear street which led to the woods.
"Whoa!" cried Freddie, but he did not say it very loudly. "Whoa, Whisker! Where you going?"
"Oh, he's runnin' away!" cried Helen. "Let me out! He's runnin' away!"
"No, he's only walking," said Freddie. "It's all right. As long as he walks, you won't get hurt. I guess I'd better drive him, though."
"Can't you stop him?" asked Flossie. "Bert won't like it to have us take him away."
"We aren't taking him away; he's taking us away," said Freddie. "I can't make him stop. Look!" Again he called: "Whoa!" but the goat did not obey.
On and on went Whisker, slowly at first, then walking a little faster and pulling after him the wagon with the children in it.
"Oh, he's going to the woods!" cried Flossie, as she saw the goat heading for the patch of trees at the end of the back street. "Stop him, Freddie!"
"Maybe he wants to go there," said Freddie. "He won't stop for me."
"But it—it's such a bumpy road," said Helen, the words being fairly jarred out of her. "It's all—all bu-bu-bumps and hu-hu-humps."