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Lightfoot, the Leaping Goat

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<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III LIGHTFOOT SAVES A GIRL</h2> For a few seconds after Lightfoot had been tossed into the ditch full of weeds the goat could not get up or even move. The trolley car clanged on its way down the tracks. “What happened?” asked some of the passengers. “Oh, a goat got on the track and the motorman had to knock him off,” explained the conductor. “I hope you didn’t hurt him,” said a little girl sitting in a front seat to the motorman. “No, I didn’t hit him very hard,” answered the motorman. “But I just had to get him out of the way. I’d never hurt any animal, for my children have a dog and a cat, and I love them as much as they do. The goat really butted into me as much as I did into him.” And this, in a way, was true. If Lightfoot had stood still, and had not tried to hit the fender of the car with his horns, he would have been easily pushed to one side. But he had to[31] learn his lesson, and, like the lessons boys and girls have to learn, all are not easy or pleasant ones. So poor Lightfoot lay groaning in the ditch among the weeds as the trolley car went on. At least he groaned as much as a goat can groan, making a sort of bleating noise. “Oh, dear!” he thought. “Never again will I do such a thing as this! I will stick to jumping, for I can do that and not be hurt. I wonder if any of my legs or my horns are broken?” Lightfoot, lying on his side in the ditch, shook his head. His horns seemed to be all right. Then he tried to scramble to his feet. He felt several pains and aches, but, to his delight, he found that he could get up, though he was a bit shaky. “Well, none of my legs is broken, anyhow,” said Lightfoot to himself. “But I ache all over. I guess I’ll go home.” Home, to Lightfoot, meant the rocks around the shanty of the widow and her son. As Lightfoot limped from the ditch to the road he passed a puddle of water. He could see himself in this, as you boys and girls can see yourselves in a looking glass. The sight that met his eyes made Lightfoot gasp. “I’d never know myself!” he said sadly. Well might he say that. One of his legs was[32] cut, and some blood had run from it. His side was scratched and bruised and some skin was scraped from his black nose. “I’m a terrible looking sight,” he said. He walked along, limping, until he came within sight of the shanty. From behind it came Blackie. “Why Lightfoot!” she cried in surprise. “Where in the world have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Why! what has happened to you?” “I—I tried to butt a trolley car off the tracks,” said the boy-goat. “I was eating some pasty paper off a tomato can that fell from an ash wagon, when the car came along. I wouldn’t get out of the way and—well, it knocked me into the ditch. Oh, dear!” “I’m so sorry,” said Blackie sympathetically. “Come on up to the top of the rocks and you can roll in the soft grass. Maybe that will make you feel better.” “No, I don’t believe I could climb to the top of the rocks now,” said Lightfoot. “I am too sore and stiff. I’ll just lie down here in the shade.” “Do,” said the kind Blackie, “and I’ll bring you some nice brown paper I found.” Goats love brown paper almost as much as they do the kind that has paste on it and that[33] comes off cans. For brown paper is made from things that goats like to eat, though of course it is not good for girls and boys any more than is hay or grass. “Well, what’s the matter with you, Lightfoot?” asked Grandpa Bumper, the old goat, as he came scrambling down the rocks a little later to get a drink of water from the pail near the kitchen door of the Widow Malony’s shanty. “What happened to you?” “I got in the way of a trolley car,” said Lightfoot, and he told what had happened. “Well, let that be a lesson to you,” said the old goat-man. “You are a strong goat-boy, and a fine jumper, but the strongest goat amongst us is not able to butt against a trolley car. I once heard of an elephant butting a locomotive with his head but he was killed. His name was Jumbo.” “I wonder if he was any relation to Tum Tum,” said Lightfoot, who was beginning to feel a little better now. “Who is Tum Tum?” asked Grandpa Bumper. “Oh, he is a jolly elephant who lives in a circus. I met a trick pony named Tinkle, who once was in the circus, and Tinkle told me about Tum Tum.” “I’m sure I don’t know about Tum Tum,”[34] went on the old goat. “And I never saw a circus, though I have heard of them.” “Maybe I’ll be in one some day,” murmured Lightfoot. “Well, whatever you do, never again try to butt a trolley car,” advised the old goat, and Lightfoot said he never would. In a few days he felt better, though his bruises and cuts still hurt a little. But, with Blackie, he managed to get to the top of the rocks, and there, eating the sweet grass and lying stretched out in the sun, he was soon himself again and could jump as well as ever. He told the other goats about his adventure with the trolley car, and they all said he was brave, if he was foolish. It was more than a month after he had been butted into the ditch by the trolley car that Lightfoot once more wandered down that same street. He felt hungry for some pasty paper from a tomato can, and he wanted to see if any had fallen from an ash wagon. Lightfoot looked up and down the street. He did not see a can but he did see a little girl, and she was standing in the middle of the trolley track, almost in the spot where Lightfoot had stood when he was hurt. “I wonder if she is going to try to knock a car off the track,” thought Lightfoot. And just then, the little girl, who was about four years[35] old, turned her back and stooped to pick up her doll, which had dropped from her arms to the ground. As she did so, around the corner of the street, came a trolley car, just like the one that had hit Lightfoot. The motorman happened to be looking the other way, and did not see the little girl. She was so taken up with her doll that she did not hear the rumble of the car, and the motorman, still looking the other way, did not ring his bell. “That little girl will be hurt!” cried Lightfoot “She can never knock the car off the track if I couldn’t. I must save her! I must push her off the rails.” Then, with a loud “Baa-a-a-a!” Lightfoot trotted on to the tracks in front of the car, and, as the little girl straightened up he gently put his head against her back and slowly pushed her from the tracks, leaping away himself just in time, as the car rolled right over the place where the little girl had been standing. <hr class="chap" /> [36] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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