For a moment Henry lay dazed, hardly knowing what had happened. Then, all of a sudden, Lightfoot felt sorry.
“My master would not want me to do this,” he said to himself. “Maybe he will punish me when he comes back. I know what I’ll do; I’ll run away.”
With a strong jump, and a leap, Lightfoot broke off, close to his neck, the rope that held him. And then, before Henry could get up, off through the bushes in the park bounded Lightfoot. He had run away.
The park where Lightfoot, the leaping goat, had worked with Mike for several weeks, giving rides to children, was quite a large one. There were many paths in it, and driveways. There were also patches of woods, and places where the bushes grew in tangled clumps, making many hiding places.
“I’d better hide myself for a while,” thought Lightfoot, for, though he was a tame goat, he still had in him some of the wildness that is in all animals, even your pussy cat; and this wildness made him want to hide when he thought himself in danger. And the danger Lightfoot feared was that he would be beaten with a stick for knocking over the boy who had tormented him.
“I’ll hide under these thick bushes,” said the goat to himself, when he had run quite a distance from the stand in the park where the small wagons were kept.
The bushes were thick, but with his strong head and horns Lightfoot soon poked a way for himself into the very middle of them, and there he lay down upon the ground to rest. For he had run fast and was tired. His heart was beating very hard.
Though he did not know it, Lightfoot had done just as a wild goat would have done――one that lived in a far-off country who had never seen a wagon, a harness or a squatter’s shanty. He had hidden himself away from danger.
And, with beating heart, as he crouched under the bush, Lightfoot wondered what he would do next.
“I can’t go back to the park and help Mike with the wagon, giving the children rides,” thought Lightfoot. “If I do that boy with the stick will be waiting for me. He’ll be angry at me for knocking him down. That little girl wasn’t mad at me for knocking her off the trolley tracks; but then that was different, I guess. And maybe Mike will be angry with me too. I’ll be sorry for that.