brought the brutal assailant back to the bench a prisoner. [Pg 100] "What is that villain's name, Paul?" I asked with eager interest. "Why, this is Angelica," he answered. "Don't you remember you named him yourself when he was first hatched?" I did remember. He was then a beautiful yellowish ball of fluff, with large, soft, wide-open eyes, the prettiest one of the brood; now he was grown into a greedy, swaggering, insolent swashbuckler, proud of his stature and fine plumage. "He's a dangerous criminal," I said, feeling his plump breast appreciatively, "and it might be better to—to"—somehow the word stuck in my throat; I hesitated. "I know, father," cried Paul joyfully. "I'm the policeman and you're the judge—he must be tried and then sentenced to wear a muzzle." Angelica was tried and sentenced, then muzzled with a small rubber band that fitted tightly over his bill. His antics amused[Pg 101] us so much that for a few minutes I forgot my fatal errand. [Pg 101] "He looks wicked enough to kill some of the others," I remarked, after a pause. "Do you know, Paul, how a person who kills another is punished?" He looked up with sudden, awed interest. "They put a rope around—him, and—and"—— "And what?" "——fine him a dollar and costs." "Oh!" he gasped, "I'm so glad that's all. And do they take the rope off afterwards?" "I believe they do," I replied, in deep dejection. "Father, I just love chickens. Don't you?" "I do, indeed," I affirmed, with sudden reckless, despairing intention; "but I love them in two different ways. If they're nice, well-mannered birds I love to see them running about with their feathers on; but if they're naughty I love to see them not running about with their feathers off." Paul laughed in glee. "Your mother and Aunt Sophy like them too," I went on warily,[Pg 102] my heart thumping; "and I think if chickens are cruel and bad they deserve to be stuffed"—his expression changed suddenly, but he still looked bravely into my eyes—"with bread-crumbs, and roasted, with
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