Then springing over the fence like a monkey, he told a few facts to the
old rooster.

"Ye're a mean ol' thing!" he cried, "jest a mean ol' critter ter bite a
feller's finger like ye did mine. I'll pay yer fer what ye done! Look at
this, an' see how ye like it!"

At that moment, and to the utter astonishment of the rooster, and his
family, Gyp sprang up and down in a series of wild jumps, shouting, and
yelling to the limit of his strength.

"Yow-ow! Hoope-high-jinks!" shrieked Gyp, his wiry arms, and legs flying
in more directions than seemed possible, his shoes, that were many sizes
too large for him, clattering on the hard-trodden earth of the hen-yard.

"How-re-ow-re-owl!" he roared, dodging this way, and that, in order to
keep directly in front of the frightened rooster.

The rooster ducked, and dodged in vain, for Gyp managed to do his
outrageous dance exactly in front of him, wherever he might be.

The hens kept up a perpetual squawking, and ran wildly about, while the
downy chicks huddled in fear under the huge leaves of a burdock plant,
and uttered little frightened peeps that, however, were unheard in the
din that Gyp and the hens created.

Then suddenly something happened.

With a wild whoop, and an extra high jump, he lost his balance, and fell
against the little gate.