Lightfoot saw, off to one side, a tomato can, and he hurried toward it. Sometimes these cans had paper pasted on them, and the goats liked to eat the paper. For it had a sweet taste, and the paste with which it was fastened to the can was even sweeter.
“That’s just the reason the big goats don’t want you to go up where they are,” said Blackie, as Lightfoot came back, looking as disappointed as a goat can look, for there was no paper on the can. Some one had eaten it off. “The big goats want to save the sweet grass on the high rocks for themselves. Some of the best milk-goats are there, and they have to eat lots of grass to make milk.”
“Well, I’m going up, anyhow,” said Lightfoot. “At least I’m going to try. If they drive me back I’ll get down all right. I’m getting to be a pretty good jumper. See!”
He gave a little run, and leaped lightly over a big rock not far from the shanty of the Widow Malony.
“Oh, that was a fine jump!” exclaimed Blackie. “I’ll never be able to jump as far as you. But I wouldn’t go up if I were you.”
“Yes, I shall,” declared Lightfoot, as he shook his horns again and started to climb the rocks. He was very fond of having his own way, was Lightfoot.
Lightfoot did not remember much about the time when he was a very very small goat. He could dimly recall that he had once lived in a green, grassy field with other goats, and then, one day, that he had been taken for a long ride in a wagon. He went to a number of places, finally reaching the home of the Widow Malony and her son Mike, who was a tall, strong lad with a happy, laughing face, covered with freckles and on his head was the reddest hair you ever saw.
Lightfoot soon made himself at home among the other goats Mrs. Malony kept. At first these goats said very little to him, but one day, when he was but a small kid (as little goats are called) he surprised the other animals among the rocks by giving a big jump to get away from a dog that ran after him.
“That goat will soon be a fine jumper,” said Grandpa Bumper, who was called that because he could bump so hard with his horns and head that all the other goats were afraid of him. “Yes, he’ll be a great jumper,” went on the oldest goat of them all. “I think I shall name him Lightfoot, for he comes down so lightly and so easily after he makes his leap.”