“There is no use jumping any more,” thought Lightfoot. “If I did jump out now I would only land in the water. I must stay here until I can find some other way to get out.”
Lightfoot found more hay and a mouthful of grain in one of the corners of the boat, and after he had eaten he felt better. But still he was lonesome and homesick.
Pretty soon it grew dark, and Lightfoot could see the stars shining over head. He cuddled up in a corner, among some old bags, and went to sleep.
For three days Lightfoot traveled on in the canal boat. All he could see were the dark sides of the hole in which he was. He could talk to the horses through the wooden walls of their stable, but he could not see them.
Now and then the boat would pull up to shore, and the tired horses would come aboard while the others would take their turn at the towrope. All this while Lightfoot lived on the hay and grain he found in the cracks and corners of the canal boat. Had it not been for this the goat would have starved, for neither the captain nor his wife knew Lightfoot was on board, and the horses, much as they wished, could not pass the goat any of their food.
One day the boat was kept along the shore towpath for a long while. Lightfoot tried again to jump out but could not. Then, all at once he heard a very loud noise. It was louder than that made by the hoofs of the horses, and the goat cried:
“Surely that is thunder!”
He saw something black tumble down into the hold at the end farthest from him.