And so Lightfoot wondered. Mike was good to him, and often brought him some lumps of salt, or a bit of carrot or turnip, for though goats like to eat grass, and even bits of paper and other queer things, they like nice things too, like sweet vegetables.
“I guess I’ll go down and see what it is Mike has,” said Lightfoot to himself, and so he started down the rocky path. Though he was a good leaping goat he did not want again to try to jump on top of the widow’s shanty. That was too dangerous.
“Where are you going, Lightfoot?” asked Blackie, the girl-goat, who had been cropping grass near her friend, as she saw him start down the rocky path.
“The boy Mike is down there, and he may have something good to eat,” answered Lightfoot. “If he has I’ll give you some.”
“You are very kind,” said Blackie, and she followed down after Lightfoot, only more slowly, for she was not so good a jumper or rock-climber as was he.
Down near his mother’s shanty, Mike was looking at the goat wagon and harness he had just brought home.
“It’s almost as good as new, Mother!” cried the Irish boy. “Look at the wheels spin, would you!” and turning the wagon on one side he spun two wheels around until they went so fast he could not see the spokes.
“Be careful now and don’t break it,” cautioned the Widow Malony.
“Oh, sure ’tis a grand strong wagon!” cried Mike. “It would hold two baskets of clothes. And I can ride four boys or girls around in it at once, and get pennies.”