He had found out his Andes for himself, and even as we gazed he turned and tossed his head in a way that showed us some mysterious purpose was hidden beneath his calm exterior.

The next moment he put his off-horn neatly behind the end plate of the next to the bottom row, and ran it along against the wall.
The plates fell crashing on to the soup tureen and vegetable dishes which adorned the lower range of the Andes.
Mrs Pettigrew's screams were almost drowned in the discarding crash and crackle of the falling avalanche of crockery.
Oswald, though stricken with horror and polite regret, preserved the most dauntless coolness.
Disregarding the mop which Mrs Pettigrew kept on poking at the goat in a timid yet cross way, he sprang forward, crying out to his trusty followers, 'Stand by to catch him!' But Dick had thought of the same thing, and ere Oswald could carry out his long-cherished and general-like design, Dicky had caught the goat's legs and tripped it up.

The goat fell against another row of plates, righted itself hastily in the gloomy ruins of the soup tureen and the sauce-boats, and then fell again, this time towards Dicky.

The two fell heavily on the ground together.

The trusty followers had been so struck by the daring of Dicky and his lion-hearted brother, that they had not stood by to catch anything.
The goat was not hurt, but Dicky had a sprained thumb and a lump on his head like a black marble door-knob.