His mother came up humming from the beach, with wooden pans which she had scoured: she saw the boy sitting with his legs crossed under him on the grass, crying, and she went up to him.
"What are you crying about?"
"O, the goat, the goat!"
"Yes; where is the goat?" asked his mother, looking up at the roof.
"It will never come back again," said the boy.
"Dear me! how could that happen?"
He would not confess immediately.
"Ah, if it only were the fox!"
"Are you crazy?" said his mother; "what has become of the goat?"