And as he left the edge of the rocks, and looked below, he wished he had taken the butting from Mr. Sharp-horn. But it was too late now. And then, all of a sudden, Lightfoot did that which gained him the name of being a very wise young goat.
[Lightfoot was falling down and down.]
Below he saw the tin and board roof of the Malony shanty. It stood about fifteen feet high, and Lightfoot thought if he could land on that it would shorten his big jump. He would not have to go so far, and then he could leap down that much more easily.
So he gave himself a shake and a twist in the air, as some acrobats do in the circus, and as cats and goats do when they jump, and, instead of heading straight for the hard ground, Lightfoot aimed his four feet at the roof of the shanty.
Just then Mrs. Malony came to the door to watch her son going down the street with the basket of clothes on his wagon.
“Look! Look, Mike!” called the widow. “Sure it’s a flyin’ goat Lightfoot is now. He’s fallin’ down out of the sky!”
And indeed it did look so. But before Mike could answer, Lightfoot had landed on the roof of the shanty amid a great clattering of the boards and tin that kept out the rain. The roof was flat, and the boards were springy, so the goat sort of bounced up and down, like the man when he falls into the circus net, though, of course, to a less degree.