"But we wont be hear fore much longer but will be gon to blok Iland like I tole you where you are cummin to see me and we will play in the sand and ro botes. But not go fishin for I dont like wurms. "There is a boy hear. His name is Chett Gormley. He works for Uncel Joe. He cam home last nite with me from his mother house and she calld him my boo. But he is not a boo--he is only Chett. He is a nice boy and awful tall and this will be all--" "Why!" gasped Carolyn May at this point. "Isn't that funny? _That rhymes!_ I never knew before I was a poet. "'He's awful tall. And this will be all.' My!" The letter was signed and sent to Edna Price just as Carolyn wrote it; for, although she was rather weak in spelling, the little girl, as her mother saw, made her meaning quite plain save, perhaps, in the matter of Chet Gormley being a "boo." And now the visit to the Corners had drawn to its end. Carolyn had had such a good time that she would have postponed, had it been her own will, the journey out of the woods, across the pleasant plains and through the rich valleys of Massachusetts, and so finally down to Rhode Island's former summer capital by the sea. It was by no means an unadventurous journey, and the day and night they spent at Newport was long to be remembered, too. Almost anything can happen when one travels with a dog like Prince. There was a rule of the hotel at which Carolyn and her mother stopped which forbade dogs in the rooms of the guests, and the management undertook to make them leave Prince in some part of the rear premises. "I don't believe he'll be good down there," Carolyn May said to the white-waistcoated and very precise-looking managerial person who insisted on leading Prince away. "He never will make a mite of trouble if he is with us. He's quite used to living with us. But to be tied up--down in a cellar--Well! I just _know_ he won't be good." "Sorry, little girl," said the stiff and haughty manager. "But rules are rules." When next they saw the man he was neither "stiffly starched" nor haughty looking. His white vest and immaculate shirtfront were much ruffled--and so was his temper. His black coat and trousers were a sight! "Here!" he gasped, struggling at the far end of Prince's leash, having pounded on the door of the room in which Mrs. Cameron and the little girl were just going to bed. "Take this dog. Dog! He's a hyena! I would not turn an unprotected woman and child out of my house at this hour of the night; but I would not allow this dog to remain here over another night for anything or for any money." Prince possibly proved his "hyena strain" by laughing just as plainly as a dog could laugh. Seeing that his little mistress and her mother were all right in this strange place, he immediately curled down on a mat at the foot of the bed and blinked his eyes at them all in an apathetic way.