of goatdom no kid save Billy Bocksfuss ever tricked himself.
In our play-yard were a number of barrels and boards that we used for Dean of the Hill. To entertain my admirers I would set two planks against opposite sides of a barrel-top; Redfearn’s Tommy, my special friend, would scramble up from one side and I from the other, and we’d wrestle for possession of the summit. One weekend morning, encouraged by applause, I raised the Hill to a height of two barrels, and thence to two barrels and a box, which I climbed with great difficulty from the side. The plankway was too steep then for the others; they could only adore me from below as I teetered on my perch; presently they feigned indifference, butted one another on the ground as if they didn’t hear my crowing, or the crowd’s approval. But I knew their hearts were filled with envy. Redfearn’s Tom, especially, craved to join me: “Come, Tom!” I called, and he would pick his way up the steep board until he lost his footing. The humans took up my taunt: “Come, Tom! Come, Tom!” My poor brown buddy hurled himself up the barrel-side, fell back in the mud, hurled himself again. I mocked his bleating; he redoubled his efforts; my tower shook. “Come, Tom!” I cried. And I found myself making the peculiar roaring noise I’d heard humans make: “Ha ha ha! Come, Tommy! Ha ha ha!” The word
laughter
was not yet in my vocabulary; I’d often mimicked its sound, but now I understood its cause and use. Inspired, I made water upon my friend. “Ha ha ha!” we all laughed as he sprang away.
I heard Max call from the barn-door: “Na, you Bill.” His voice was stern; “Come down off,” he ordered, and I conceived a queer new notion: he was jealous. The onlookers hooted: though I had not heard that sound before, I grasped its import at once and found it no chore to echo. What’s more, it suggested my last and grandest stunt: rising up on my knees I cupped hands to mouth and did a perfect imitation of Max’s shophar.
“Verboten!”
he shouted, clutching at his beard, shaking his crook at me.
It was the peril-word. At once every goat round about raised head from browsing; years of training made me feel seized by that word as by a hand; my senses rang. But where was the danger? The humans were with me; they recommenced their laughter, and so again and again I sent the buckhorn’s call across the fields.
“Te-
roo
-ah! Te-
roooo
-ah!”
Alarm and summons together drove the goats wild: they leaped and cried and crashed against their fences. The does all called for their kids, the kids for their dams—I heard Mary bleat for me from her stall. The big bucks stamped in their pens and plunged about; Redfearn’s Tom tore betweenMax and the barrels. There stood our keeper shouting,
“Verboten!”
but the summons came from Billy Bocksfuss, Dean of the Hill!
My next “Te-
roo
-ah!” resolved Tom’s doubts: I that had been his playmate was now his keeper and must be obeyed. As before he threw himself up against the barrels, frantic to reach me, and now the others followed his example. Hadn’t I gulled them, “Ha ha ha.” And then my tower came a-topple.
I had built it near the fence, which, when the Hill fell, I tumbled over, to the feet of my audience. No bones broke, but the wind was knocked out of me, and I was terrified to have fallen, as I thought, into the people’s pen. They sprang back; their women shrieked—no fiercelier than I, when I had got my breath. It is a mercy I didn’t know then what I learned by and by, that men have sated their bloody hunger with
jambon de chèvre
and billygoat-tawny. Even so I guessed they’d set upon me, as would our bucks on any of them who fell within reach. I scrambled up, my only thought to escape back into the play-pound; but trousered legs were all around me, and still rattled by my fall I sprang the wrong way. More shouts went up; I was struck a cruel one athwart the muzzle with a stick. I stumbled into the
In our play-yard were a number of barrels and boards that we used for Dean of the Hill. To entertain my admirers I would set two planks against opposite sides of a barrel-top; Redfearn’s Tommy, my special friend, would scramble up from one side and I from the other, and we’d wrestle for possession of the summit. One weekend morning, encouraged by applause, I raised the Hill to a height of two barrels, and thence to two barrels and a box, which I climbed with great difficulty from the side. The plankway was too steep then for the others; they could only adore me from below as I teetered on my perch; presently they feigned indifference, butted one another on the ground as if they didn’t hear my crowing, or the crowd’s approval. But I knew their hearts were filled with envy. Redfearn’s Tom, especially, craved to join me: “Come, Tom!” I called, and he would pick his way up the steep board until he lost his footing. The humans took up my taunt: “Come, Tom! Come, Tom!” My poor brown buddy hurled himself up the barrel-side, fell back in the mud, hurled himself again. I mocked his bleating; he redoubled his efforts; my tower shook. “Come, Tom!” I cried. And I found myself making the peculiar roaring noise I’d heard humans make: “Ha ha ha! Come, Tommy! Ha ha ha!” The word
laughter
was not yet in my vocabulary; I’d often mimicked its sound, but now I understood its cause and use. Inspired, I made water upon my friend. “Ha ha ha!” we all laughed as he sprang away.
I heard Max call from the barn-door: “Na, you Bill.” His voice was stern; “Come down off,” he ordered, and I conceived a queer new notion: he was jealous. The onlookers hooted: though I had not heard that sound before, I grasped its import at once and found it no chore to echo. What’s more, it suggested my last and grandest stunt: rising up on my knees I cupped hands to mouth and did a perfect imitation of Max’s shophar.
“Verboten!”
he shouted, clutching at his beard, shaking his crook at me.
It was the peril-word. At once every goat round about raised head from browsing; years of training made me feel seized by that word as by a hand; my senses rang. But where was the danger? The humans were with me; they recommenced their laughter, and so again and again I sent the buckhorn’s call across the fields.
“Te-
roo
-ah! Te-
roooo
-ah!”
Alarm and summons together drove the goats wild: they leaped and cried and crashed against their fences. The does all called for their kids, the kids for their dams—I heard Mary bleat for me from her stall. The big bucks stamped in their pens and plunged about; Redfearn’s Tom tore betweenMax and the barrels. There stood our keeper shouting,
“Verboten!”
but the summons came from Billy Bocksfuss, Dean of the Hill!
My next “Te-
roo
-ah!” resolved Tom’s doubts: I that had been his playmate was now his keeper and must be obeyed. As before he threw himself up against the barrels, frantic to reach me, and now the others followed his example. Hadn’t I gulled them, “Ha ha ha.” And then my tower came a-topple.
I had built it near the fence, which, when the Hill fell, I tumbled over, to the feet of my audience. No bones broke, but the wind was knocked out of me, and I was terrified to have fallen, as I thought, into the people’s pen. They sprang back; their women shrieked—no fiercelier than I, when I had got my breath. It is a mercy I didn’t know then what I learned by and by, that men have sated their bloody hunger with
jambon de chèvre
and billygoat-tawny. Even so I guessed they’d set upon me, as would our bucks on any of them who fell within reach. I scrambled up, my only thought to escape back into the play-pound; but trousered legs were all around me, and still rattled by my fall I sprang the wrong way. More shouts went up; I was struck a cruel one athwart the muzzle with a stick. I stumbled into the
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