I was outside St. Cecelia's Rectory

    smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me.

    It was mostly black and white， with a little reddish

    brown here and there. When I started to walk away，

    it followed. I was amused and delighted， but wondered

    what the laws were on this kind of thing. There's

    a leash¹ law for dogs， but what about goats？ People

    smiled at me and admired the goat. "It's not my goat，"

    I explained. "It's the town's goat. I'm just taking

    my turn caring for it." "I didn't know we had a goat，"

    one of them said. "I wonder when my turn is." "Soon，"

    I said. "Be patient. Your time is coming." The goat

    stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked

    up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew

    everything essential about me. We walked on. A police-

    man on his beat looked us over. "That's a mighty³

    fine goat you got there，" he said， stopping to admire.

    "It's the town's goat，" I said. "His family goes back

    three-hundred years with us，" I said， "from the beginning."

    The officer leaned forward to touch him， then stopped

    and looked up at me. "Mind if I pat² him？" he asked.

    "Touching⁴ this goat will change your life，" I said.

    "It's your decision." He thought real hard for a minute，

    and then stood up and said， "What's his name？" "He's

    called the Prince of Peace，" I said. "God！ This town

    is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there's mystery

    and wonder. And I'm just a child playing cops⁵ and robbers⁶

    forever. Please forgive me if I cry." "We forgive you，

    Officer，" I said. "And we understand why you， more than

    anybody， should never touch the Prince." The goat and

    I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning

    to wonder where we would spend the night.