LIGHTFOOT IN THE PARK
Lightfoot, the leaping goat, who was cropping the sweet grass on top of
the rocks from which he had once made his great jump, looked down in
the yard near the shanty and saw his master Mike busy over something
new.
“I wonder what that is?” thought Lightfoot to himself, for goats and
other animals wonder and are curious about things, as you can tell by
holding out something in your hand to your dog or cat. They will come
up to it and smell it, to see if it is good to eat.
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.”
“Well, sure an’ it’s the pennies we need,” sighed Mrs. Malony, for she
found it hard to get along on what she could earn. Mike was getting to
be a bigger boy now, and he ate more, though his mother never told him
this. She wanted him to grow strong.
“Give me a bit of salt, Mother,” said Mike. “I want to get Lightfoot
friendly, so he’ll not be afraid of the harness or wagon, for I’m going
to hitch him up soon.
“Here he comes now with Blackie,” went on Mike, as he saw the two goats
coming down the rocky path. “You’re just in time, Lightfoot, though I
don’t need Blackie to learn to pull the wagon. She wouldn’t be strong
enough. But I’ll give her some salt.”
The two goats licked the salt from Mike’s hands, and liked it very
much. Mike turned the wagon right side up, and then took up part of the
harness.
“I wonder how Lightfoot will act when I put it on him,” thought Mike.
“He’s never been harnessed.”
While the goat was chewing some sweet chopped carrots which Mrs. Malony
spread out in front of him, Mike gently slipped a part of the harness
over the goat’s back. At first Lightfoot jumped a little to one side.
But, as he saw that there were still more carrots left, and as he felt
Mike patting him, Lightfoot thought it was all right.
“I guess it’s just a new game that boy Mike is playing,” said the goat
to himself. “Well, he’s always kind to me, so I’m sure it will be all
right. Anyhow these carrots are good. Have some, Blackie.”
“I will,” said the other goat. “But what is that queer thing on your
back, Lightfoot?”
“Oh, some game that boy is playing,” answered the goat. “It won’t hurt
us, for Mike is always kind,” and he and Blackie went on eating the
carrots.
“Well, so far so good,” said Mike to himself when he had most of the
harness on his pet, and Lightfoot had stood still. “Now to get the bit
in his mouth. That’s going to be harder.”
“Better get Jack Murphy to come over and help you,” said Mrs. Malony.
“He used to keep goats in Ireland, and he knows a lot about ’em, though
I don’t know if he ever harnessed ’em to a cart.”
But Mr. Murphy had, as it happened, and, being a neighbor of the
Malonys, he soon came over when Mike called him and showed the boy
how to put the iron bit in Lightfoot’s mouth, and run the reins back
through rings fastened in a part of the harness that went around the
middle of the goat’s back.
It was not easy to do, and, several times, Lightfoot tried to break
away. But Mike and Mr. Murphy held him until the harness was in place
and tightly strapped on.
“Now see if you can drive him about,” said Mr. Murphy, when Mike had
hold of the reins and the bit was in Lightfoot’s mouth. The goat was
shaking his head about, trying to get rid of the piece of iron between
his teeth. It did not really hurt him. It just felt queer. But it was
firmly held by straps, and Lightfoot could not shake it loose.
“I can’t drive him without first hitching him to the wagon,” said Mike,
for as yet the goat had not been put between the shafts of the little
cart.
“Don’t hitch him to that yet,” advised Mr. Murphy. “Sure he might run
away and break it. Just drive him about the yard by the reins and run
after him.”
“He may run away with me,” laughed Mike.
“Well, that can’t be helped. Maybe he will. But he’ll soon get used to
the harness and behave. Lightfoot is a wise goat.”
But even wise goats don’t like it the first time they are put in
harness, and Lightfoot was no different in this way from others, though
he was such a good jumper. When Mike took hold of the reins and called
to Lightfoot to “gid-dap,” the goat, who was now big and strong,
started off with such force and suddenness that Mike was almost jerked
from his feet.
“Run!” called Mr. Murphy. “Run with him, and along after him, Mike. Try
to turn him to the right and the left so’s he’ll know how to mind the
reins when he’s fast to the wagon. Run after him!”
Mike, holding fast to the reins, ran, and the goat ran too. And, being
a good runner, Lightfoot easily kept ahead of Mike. It was all Mike
could do not to let go the reins.
“Run!” called Mr. Murphy. “Run faster, Mike!”
Mike tried but he stumbled over a stone and fell. However, he kept hold
of the reins, winding them around his wrists and as Lightfoot kept on
going he pulled Mike all about the yard.
“Bless an’ save us!” cried Mrs. Malony coming to the door of her
shanty. “What’s happenin’?”
“He’s teaching Lightfoot to pull to harness,” said Mr. Murphy.
“Hum! It looks more like Lightfoot was teachin’ _Mike_,” said the
widow. “Won’t Mike be hurt?”
“Not a bit. Many a time in th’ old country I’ve been dragged by a goat.
It’s good for one.”
Around and around the yard Lightfoot dragged Mike, the chickens and
ducks scattering in all directions, the old rooster flying up on the
fence and crowing with all his might.
At last Lightfoot, finding he could not get the iron bit out of his
mouth, and could not shake off the harness, and looking back and seeing
Mike being dragged about on the ground, thought:
“Well, I guess I’m tired. I seem to be held fast no matter what I do.
I’ll quit.”
And that is just what Mike wanted, for he was tired of being pulled
about in this fashion.
“Well, I guess he’s learned that part, anyhow,” said Mr. Murphy. “Now
we’ll hitch him to the wagon.”
While Mr. Murphy was bringing up the wagon, and Mike was holding
Lightfoot, Blackie came up and asked:
“What was all that for, Lightfoot?”
“Oh, I guess it was a new kind of game. I can’t say I like it though. I
had rather jump on the rocks,” answered Lightfoot.
“No, it was not a game,” said Grandpa Bumper, coming up just then.
“You are being taught to let yourself be harnessed up to draw a cart,
Lightfoot, and here they come with the cart now.”
“What does that mean?” asked the leaping goat. “Will it hurt?”
“No, not if you behave yourself. Once I was a cart-drawing goat, and
I worked in a nice park. I’ll tell you about it so you’ll know what to
do.”
And when the cart was brought up, and the shafts, one on each side of
Lightfoot, were being fastened with straps, the younger goat stood very
still, listening to Grandpa Bumper tell, in goat language, just what it
all meant.
“Why, he seems to like it,” said Mike as he fastened the last strap.
“He didn’t try once to get away, Mr. Murphy.”
“I guess he’s getting used to it,” said the kind Irishman.
But if he and Mike had known, it was what Grandpa Bumper had said to
Lightfoot that made the young goat stand so still and allow himself to
be hitched to the cart.
“Well,” said Lightfoot to the old goat when the harnessing was
finished, “it may not be so bad after all. I guess I’ll be good and not
run away. I’ll pull the cart nicely.”
“It will be best, I think,” said the old goat.
So, when Mike took his seat in the cart, and pulled on the reins,
calling to Lightfoot to “Gid-dap!” the goat started off, pulling the
little wagon as though he had done it all his life.
“Oh, this is great!” cried Mike. “I never thought he would learn as
easily as this.”
“He is a smart and sensible goat,” the Irishman said. “Now look out if
he gets going too fast.”
But Lightfoot did not seem to want to run away. He trotted along up and
down the street, soon learning to turn to the right or the left as Mike
pulled the reins.
Once or twice Lightfoot started to run swiftly, but Mike pulled back on
the reins, and the iron bit in his mouth, pressing on his tongue and
teeth, told Lightfoot that he must go more slowly.
In a few days he had become used to the cart and harness and Mike could
drive him anywhere. The other goats came to the top of the pile of
rocks and looked down at Lightfoot. Many of them wished they could be
harnessed up, for Lightfoot got many extra good things to eat from
Mike, who liked his driving goat very much. Lightfoot was now a driving
goat as well as a leaping one.
“And now it’s time, I guess,” said Mike one day, “to see if I can
earn money with my goat and wagon.” He had taken a number of baskets
of clean clothes home to his mother’s employers, and, no matter how
heavy the basket was, Lightfoot had no trouble in pulling it, with Mike
sitting on the front seat of the cart.
Mike made his wagon nice and clean, put a strip of old carpet in the
bottom, and started one day for a part of the city where rich folks
lived. Along the streets there, on pleasant afternoons, nurse maids
would be out walking with the children of whom they took care. When he
got to this place Mike drove his goat wagon slowly up and down.
It was not long before a little boy, well dressed, who was walking
along with his nurse, cried:
“Oh, Marie! See the wonderful goat wagon! May I have a ride in it?”
“No, no, Master Peter. It is not to ride in.”
“Yes, it is! I want a ride! Will you give me a ride, boy?” he called to
Mike.
“You must not ask for rides,” said Marie, the maid. “The boy sells
rides――that is, I think he does,” and she looked at Mike and smiled.
“Yes,” answered Mike, “my goat wagon is for hire.”
“Then I want a ride!” cried little Peter. “I want a ride, Marie!”
“But we must ask your mamma,” said the maid. “Come, she is just going
out in the car. We will ask her.”
Mike saw a richly dressed lady getting into a big automobile in front
of a fine house. Peter ran to her and said something. The lady beckoned
to Mike, who drove his wagon toward her.
“Do you hire out your goat wagon for rides?” asked the lady.
“Yes’m,” said Mike.
“And is he perfectly safe?”
“Yes’m. I drive him myself. I won’t let him run away.”
“Then I think you may have a ride up and down the block, Peter. Marie,
here is money to pay the goat-boy. But be careful, won’t you?” she
cautioned Mike.
“Oh, yes’m,” he promised. He helped Peter into the goat wagon, on to
one of the three rear seats, Marie getting in also. Then Mike started
Lightfoot off down the street at a gentle trot.
“Oh, I love this!” cried Peter. “When I grow up I’m going to drive a
goat wagon!”
“Oh, Master Peter!” cried Marie.
“Well, I am,” he said. “It’s ever so much more fun than making an
automobile go. Anybody can do that.”
Up and down the block Mike drove Lightfoot, giving the little boy and
his nurse a fine ride. Then the other children wanted rides, and their
parents or nurses, seeing how gentle the goat was, and how well Mike
managed him, let their boys and girls get in the cart. Mike was kept
busy all the afternoon giving rides to the little tots, and when he had
finished he had nearly two dollars, in ten- and five-cent pieces, for
some children took more than one ride.
“Talk about your luck!” cried Mike as he drove toward his shanty, a
happy smile on his freckled face. “I’ll soon be rich.”
“Look at that, Mother!” he cried, as he poured the money from his
pocket on to the table. “That’s what Lightfoot earned for us to-day!”
“Thanks be!” exclaimed Mrs. Malony. “Sure an’ the money will come in
handy, for I have the grocer to pay to-night. Tell me about it, Mike
darlin’.”
And Mike told, while Lightfoot, unharnessed, ate a good supper, and
then told the other goats of his new adventures.
For several weeks Mike went about the different streets of the city
giving rides to children, and hardly a day passed that he did not make
a dollar or a little more. Of course when it rained he could not do
this. And then one day Mike came home with bright eyes and a laughing
face.
“What do you think, Mother dear!” he cried. “I have a regular job with
Lightfoot!”
“What is it, Mike?”
“I’m to drive him and the goat wagon in the park, and the man is to
give me ten dollars a week. That’ll be better than going about the
streets. I’ll get paid regular. Hurray!” and Mike hugged and kissed his
mother.