"Ding-te-ding—I tell ye what, if ye put jest the tip of yer finger between them slats, that 'ere ol' rooster 'll bite it almost off'n yer!" he remarked, "I know, 'cause I TRIED it."
"You keep your fingers away from the coop, and yourself out of my yard," cried Aunt Judith, "or I'll have you arrested."
"Wow!" shrieked Gyp, and slipping from the fence, he ran to the woods, lest Aunt Judith should immediately put her threat into effect.
The one, and only thing that Gyp feared was a policeman.
A wild little ragamuffin, living in an old hut that was home only in name, with parents as ignorant as himself, he was viewed with contempt by every child in the town, and feared by them, as well.
There was nothing that he dared not do—if no policeman were in sight.
It was well known by everyone that when Gyp once became interested in anything, he would not let it alone until something occurred that he thought more attractive.
Aunt Judith, shading her eyes with her hand, waited until she felt sure that Gyp did not intend to return. Then locking the door, and closing the windows, she made her way down the avenue toward the parsonage.
She felt unusually lonely, and the parson's wife was always glad to see her.
The walk was a long one, and when Aunt Judith had reached the parsonage, she paused for a moment to enjoy the light breeze before opening the little gate. "I saw you coming," said a pleasant voice, "and I guess you felt the heat on the way. Come in, and sit down under the big maple trees. It's cooler than it is in the house."