Sometimes, too, when we saw Halstead going down with the
lantern to feed him, we went along to see the performance and hear the
turkey groan, _Ca-r-r-r!_ "Halstead, that's wicked!" Addison said
several times; and Halstead retorted that we were both trying to make
out a story against him, so as to sneak our own turkeys in ahead of his.
Nine or ten days passed. Halstead was nearly always behindhand when we
turned out to do the farm chores. As we went through the wagon-house one
morning Addison stopped to take another peep at the captive; I went on,
but a moment later heard him calling to me softly. When I joined him at
the foot of the stairs he lighted a match for me to see. Halstead's
gobbler lay dead with both feet up in the air. We wondered what Halstead
would say when he went to feed his turkey. As we left, we heard him
coming down from upstairs. He did not join us, to help do the chores,
for half an hour. When he did appear, he looked glum; he had carried the
poor victim of forced feeding out behind the west barn and buried him in
the bean field--without ceremonies.
We said nothing--except now and then, as days passed, to ask him how the
speckled gobbler was coming on.
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