“Mother!” exclaimed Rodney. “How on earth did that fellow get out? Even a goat can’t climb up and down a wall.” “I don’t care how he got out,” she replied, wearily. “I must have my supper.--O, dear! What are we to do! I feel clean discouraged.” Downstairs they went and both of them seemed to be carrying heavier burdens than the bundle, whatever it was. Rodney had evidently been both housekeeper and cook and a little table was set in the kitchen, handy to the stove and the teapot, but Mrs. Nelson walked straight on and out at the back door. “How high those walls are!” she said. “Yes, I suppose the Kirbys would let us get out through their place, but I’d rather have a door of my own.” “So would I,” said Rodney. “I’ll tell Pat to go ahead and put one in, as soon as I can see him, to-morrow.” “Ba-a-beh!” came, just then, in a tone of strong approval, from a friend whose left horn was almost under Rodney’s elbow. “I say, mother,” exclaimed Rodney, “how did he get down here again. Guess there’s a weak spot in that wall, somewhere.” That might be, but Mrs. Nelson was too tired to be interested in goats and walls, and she went into the house. It was a great mystery to her son, however, for he had inspected the entire enclosure, that day, accompanied by Billy, and had decided that no fellow could get out unless he used a ladder. “He’s about the smartest goat there is,” remarked Rodney, “but I’d better watch him and see how he does it.” Supper time came and went, everywhere, and after that the evening shadows began to settle down over the city. Then anybody looking in that direction from a distance would have seen a kind of glow in the sky above it, coming up from all the lights that were burning along all the hundreds of streets. There was no moon to speak of but there were lights, in front windows of dwellings and business places, and the stars helped also, so that it seemed a pleasant kind of evening. There was one street, on the eastern side of the city, which projected nearly a hundred feet out into the East River in the form of a wooden pier. Only one solitary street-lamp was burning on the pier and beyond it all was a gloomy glimmer of rippling, rushing water. A swift tide was rushing out and a brisk wind was blowing. The one lamp was on the left side of the pier, at the head of a flight of wooden steps, leading down to a float, and by the float was moored a small but serviceable steam tugboat. In that light, all that could be seen of her was a stumpy, sheetiron engine chimney; a lot of small windows, lighted up inside; some steam from a puffing pipe; and the rest of the boat had to be taken for granted. There were puffs and coughs of steam because the boat was at that moment casting loose her hawser and setting out upon a voyage.