"But you got the eating end of it
wrong. It isn't going to eat us, we are going to eat it. About
Thanksgiving, we'll lay its head on the block and Ma will stuff it----"
"I've quit stuffing turkeys, Peter," said Mrs. Harding. "I find it spoils
the flavour of the meat."
"Well then it will stuff us," said Peter, "all we can hold, and mince pie,
plum pudding, and every good thing we can think of. What piece of turkey
do you like best, Butterfly?"
Mickey instantly scanned Peter, then Mrs. Peter, and tensely waited.
"Oh stop! Stop! Is _that a turkey bird?_" cried Peaches.
"Surely it is," said Mrs. Harding. "Why childie, haven't you ever seen a
turkey, either?"
"No I didn't ever," said Peaches. "Can turkey birds sing?"
Just then the gobbler stuck forward his head and sang: "Gehobble, hobble,
hobble!" Peaches gripped Peter's hair and started to ascend him again.
Mrs. Harding waved her apron; the turkey suddenly reduced its size three-
fourths, skipped aside, and a neat, trim bird, high stepping and dainty,
walked through the orchard.
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