That was as much as Freddie could think of at one time, especially as he had to hold the reins that were fast to the bit in Whisker's mouth. For the goat was driven just as a horse or pony is driven, and Freddie was doing the driving this time.
At least the little boy thought he was, and that was very near the same thing. But Whisker went along by himself pretty much as he pleased, really not needing much driving by the leather reins. And he never needed to be whipped—in fact, there was not a whip in the wagon, for the Bobbsey children never thought of using it. They were kind to their goat.
"Oh, I'm falling out!" suddenly cried Helen, as the wagon went over a very rough, bumpy place in the path.
"Hold on tight like me," said Flossie. "Anyhow," she went on, as she looked out of the wagon, "if you do fall you won't get hurted much, 'cause there's a lot of soft moss and leaves on the ground."
"But I'll get my dress dirty," said Helen.
"Then we'll go down to the lake and wash it off," said Freddie, for the woods in which they now were led down to the shore of the lake.
"Well, I don't want to fall, anyhow," said Helen. "'Most always when I fall I bump my nose, an' it hurts."
"It's smoother now, and I guess the wagon won't tip over," observed Freddie, a little later.
They had come now to a wider path in the woods, where it was not so bumpy, and the wagon rolled easily over the moss and leaves as Whisker pulled it along.
"It's nice in here," said Flossie, looking about her.