Moni shook his head. “That’s nothing. I wouldn’t be an egg-boy; I would a thousand times rather be goat-boy, it is much finer.”
“But why?”
“Eggs are not alive, you can’t speak a word to them, and they don’t run after you like the goats which are glad to see you when you come, and are fond of you, and understand every word you say to them; you can’t have any pleasure with eggs as you can with the goats up here.”
“Yes, and you,” interrupted Jörgli, “what great pleasure do you have up here? Just now you have had to get up six times while we were eating, just on account of that silly kid, to prevent it from falling down below—is that a pleasure?”
“Yes, I like to do that! Isn’t it so, Mäggerli? Come! Come here!” Moni jumped up and ran after the kid, for it was making dangerous leaps for sheer joy. When he sat down again, Jörgli said:
“There is another way to keep the young goats from falling over the rocks, without having to be always jumping after them, as you do.”
“What is it?” asked Moni.
“Drive a stick firmly into the ground and fasten the goat by the leg to it; she will kick furiously, but she can’t get away.”
“You needn’t think I would do any such thing
