“You’ve got plenty of stones,” scoffed his brother Jerry. “And what won’t mother do to you for stuffin’ them in that good blouse?”
The trophies of the hunt were not as varied as usual, as Mrs. Higgins’ goat had taken up a lot of time, but then, it was a real find, and now as the launch started off, the boys were simply gasping with the excitement of “draggin’ home the prey.”
“We’ll go as smoothly as we can,” announced Mr. Doane, “for poor old Nanny won’t know exactly what to make of her sail.”
“But she isn’t kickin’,” declared Ranny. “I thought she’d kick like a steer.
“Why, Ranny Blake!” scoffed Mildred. “How could she kick with her feet tied?”
“I mean—wiggle them,” corrected Ranny.
“She does take it all right,” remarked Tom, who had given up his seat in the bow to keep a hand on the rope that trailed from the stern.
No hunters from the wilds ever returned with more precious spoils than Nanny constituted, as she lay quite contentedly upon her rugged raft. And in spite of Gloria’s comment, that the party had been mostly for boys, the girls were now as eager and enthusiastic over the capture as were their sterner companions.
Crossing the lake took but a few minutes—less than half an hour really, and once upon the home shore there was an exciting time deciding just who would bring to Mrs. Higgins her errant goat.
A wreath of wild flowers had been woven by the girls on the trip across, and this looked very festive indeed upon the neck of the prodigal.