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"Oh, go 'long, bubby!" exclaimed poor Ethan, in dismay at the dilatoriness and indifference of his unique deliverer. "I'll give ye both o' the whings." He would have offered the turkey willingly, if "bubby" had seemed to crave it. "Waal, I'm goin' now." George Birt rose from the ground and started off briskly, exhilarated by the promise of both the "whings."
And George, for duty performed, was remunerated with the two "whings," although it still remains a question in the mind of Ethan whether or not he deserved them. Not far from an abrupt precipice on a certain great mountain spur there stands in the midst of the red and yellow autumn woods a little log "church-house."
The crank-throws give the double-bass, the feed-pump sobs an' heaves, An' now the main eccentrics start their quarrel on the sheaves: Her time, her own appointed time, the rocking link-head bides, Till hear that note? the rod's return whings glimmerin' through the guides. They're all awa'! True beat, full power, the clangin' chorus goes Clear to the tunnel where they sit, my purrin' dynamos.
"Thar, now! Ethan Tynes never gimme that thar wild tur-r-key's whings like he promised." "Whar did ye happen ter see Ethan?" asked Pete, interested in his friend. "Seen him in the woods, an' he promised me the tur-r-key whings." "What fur?" inquired Pete, a little surprised by this uncalled-for generosity.
"Waal," there was an expression of embarrassment on the important freckled face, and the small red head nodded forward in an explanatory manner, "he fell off'n the bluffs arter the tur-r-key whings I mean, he went down to the ledge arter the tur-r-key, and the vines bruk an' he couldn't git up no more.
Then he prostrated himself once more at full length, for the mountain children are very careful of the precipices, snaked along dexterously to the verge of the crag, and protruding his red head cautiously, began to parley once more, trading on Ethan's necessities. "Ef I go on this yerrand fur ye," he said, looking very sharp indeed, "will ye gimme one o' the whings of that thar wild tur-r-key?"
He became vaguely aware, after a time, that the rain had ceased, and the moon was beginning to shine through rifts in the clouds. The wind continued unabated, but, curiously enough, he could not hear it now. He could hear nothing; he could think of nothing. His consciousness was beginning to fail. George Birt had indeed forgotten him, forgotten even the promised "whings."
An' he tole me that ef I'd tell ye ter fotch him a rope ter pull up by, he would gimme the whings. That happened a leetle while arter dinner-time." "Who got him a rope ter pull up by?" demanded Pete. There was again on the important face that indescribable shade of embarrassment. "Waal," the youngster balanced this word judicially, "I forgot 'bout'n the tur-r-key whings till this minute.
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