“You can never jump down that far if the big goats chase you away when you get on top of the high rocks,” went on Blackie as she looked up.
“Well, maybe I can’t do it all in _one_ jump,” Lightfoot said slowly, “but I can come down in two or three if the big goats chase me away. Anyhow, maybe they won’t chase me.”
“Oh, yes, they will!” bleated Blackie in the animal talk which the goats used among themselves.
They could understand a little man talk, but not much. But they could talk and think among themselves.
“The big goats will never let you come up where they are,” went on Blackie, who was called that because she was nearly all black. She would give milk to the Widow Malony when she grew older.
“Why won’t the big goats let me go up there?” asked Lightfoot. “I know it is nicer up there than down here, for I have heard Grandfather Bumper, the oldest of all us goats, tell how far he can see from the top of the rocks. And nice sweet grass grows up there. I’d like some of that. The grass here is nearly all dried up and gone.”
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.