Prince, of course, disturbed the serenity of the poultry. The hens went shrieking one way, the guinea fowl lifted up their voices in angry chatter, the turkey hens scurried to cover, but the old turkey cock, General Bolivar, a big, white Holland fowl, was not to have his dignity disturbed and his courage impugned by any four-footed creature with waggish ears and the stump of a tail. Therefore, General Bolivar charged with outspread wings and quivering fan. His eyesight was not good, however. He charged the little girl instead of the roistering dog. Carolyn May frankly screamed. Thirty-five pounds, or more, of solid meat, frame, and feathers catapulted through the air at one is not to be ignored. Had the angry turkey reached the little girl, he would have beaten her down, and perhaps seriously injured her. He missed her the first time, but turned to charge again. Prince barked loudly, circling around the bristling turkey cock, undecided just how to get into the battle. But Aunty Rose knew no fear of anything wearing feathers. “Scat, you brute!” she cried, and made a grab for the turkey, gripping him with her left hand behind his head, bearing his long neck downward. In her other hand she seized a piece of lath, and with it chastised the big turkey across the haunches with vigour. “Oh, don’t spank him any more, Aunty Rose!” gasped Carolyn May at last. “He _must_ be sorry.” With a final stroke Aunty Rose allowed the big fowl to go—and he ran away fast enough. But the austere Mrs. Kennedy did not consider the matter ended there. She had punished one culprit; now she turned to Prince. “Your dog, child, does not know his manners. If he is going to stay here with you, he must learn that fowl are not to be chased nor startled.” “Oh, Aunty Rose!” begged the little girl, “_don’t_ punish Prince! Not—not that way. Please, don’t! Why, he’s never been spanked in his life! He wouldn’t know what it meant. _Dear_ Aunty Rose——” “I shall not beat him, Car’lyn May,” interrupted Aunty Rose. “But he must learn his lesson. He has never run at liberty in his life before, as he does here, I warrant.” “Oh, no, ma’am; he never has. Only in the park early in the morning. Papa used to take him out for a run before he went to bed. The policemen didn’t mind if Prince _was_ off his leash then.” “‘Before he went to bed?’” repeated Aunty Rose curiously. “What time did your papa go to bed, pray?” “Why, he worked on a morning paper, you see, and he didn’t get home till ’most sunrise—in summer, I mean. He slept in the forenoon.” “Oh, such a way to live!” murmured Aunty Rose, scandalised. Then she returned to the subject of Prince’s punishment. “Your dog must learn that liberty is not license. Bring him here, Car’lyn May.” She led the way to an open coop of laths in the middle of the back yard. This was a hutch in which she put broody hens when she wished to break up their desire to set. She opened the gate of it and motioned Prince to enter.