Treasure
The next morning when the sun lit the tops of the bingbang trees, Peter Peter put on his boots. He took the goat and started toward the village.
Clouds blew in. It began to rain again. Peter Peter slipped in the mud. The goat dripped and drooped.
“Who will buy such a sad, wet goat?” thought Peter Peter.
An old, old man came down the road. The old man’s coat dragged. His hat drooped. His nose dripped.
“Good day, sir,” said Peter Peter.
“Good day it is not!” sniffled the old, old man. “The mud is so bad. I cannot get to the village to buy a goat.”
“What luck!” said Peter Peter. “I have a goat to sell.”
“Good,” said the old, old man. “I will give you this bag of treasure. You will give me your goat.
Peter Peter looked at the big, lumpy bag. It seemed like a lot of treasure.
“The goat is yours,” said Peter Peter. He took the bag and headed for the village.
