With his bow and arrow, Robinson went hunting every day. The rabbits soon learned to know him and let themselves be seldom seen. As soon as they saw him, they took alarm. They became timid and shy. One day Robinson went out as usual to shoot rabbits. He found none. But as he came to a great rock he heard from behind a new sound, one he had not heard before in the island. Ba-a-a, it sounded.

"A kid," thought Robinson, "like that with which I have so often played at home."

He slipped noiselessly around the rock and behold, really there stood a kid. He tried to call it, but the kid sought safety in flight. He hastened after it. Then he noticed that it was lame in one fore foot. It ran into some brush, where Robinson seized it by the horns and held it fast.

How Robinson rejoiced! He stroked it and fondled it. Then he thought, how could it come into this wilderness on this lonesome island? "Has your ship been cast upon the rocks too, and been broken to pieces? You dear thing, you shall be my comrade." He seized the goat by the legs, and no matter how it kicked, carried it to his cave.

Then he fetched quickly a cocoanut shell full of water and washed and bathed the goat's wounded leg. A stone had rolled down from the hill and had inflicted a severe wound on its left fore leg, or perhaps it had stepped into a crack in the rocks. Robinson tore off a piece of linen from his shirt, dipped it in water and bound it with shreds of the cocoanut upon the wound. Then he pulled some grass and moss and made a soft bed near the door of the cave. After he had given it water, it looked at him with thankful eyes and licked his hand.

Robinson could not sleep that night. He thought continually of his goat and got up time and again to see if it was safe. The moon shone clear in the heavens. As Robinson sat before the goat's bed he looked down on his new possession as lovingly as a mother on her child.

The next morning Robinson's first thought was, "I am no longer alone. I have a companion, my goat." He sprang up and looked for it. There she lay on her side, still sleeping.

As he stood and considered, the thought came to him that perhaps the goat had escaped from its keeper. There must then be some one living on the land. He quickly put on his shoes and his hat, took his parasol, and ran to the rock where he had found the goat.

He called, he sought, he peered about to see if some shepherd were there somewhere. He found nothing. He found no trace of man. There was no road, no bridge, no field, no logs, not even a chip or shaving to show that the hand of man had been there.

But what was that? In the distance ran a herd of goats over the rocks. But no dog followed them and no shepherd. They ran wild on the island. They had perhaps been left there by some ship. As he came home he noticed the goat sorrowfully. The bandage had become dry. The goat might be suffering pain. Robinson loosened the bandage, washed the wound again and bound it up anew. It was so trustful. It ran after him and he decided always to protect it.

"I will always be your shepherd and take care of you," he said.