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"This is my home and little girls can't wear red dresses when they visit me. Pffff! Get away!" The little girl turned to run as the big Gobbler came puffing toward her. In her fright she stumbled and fell, and he hurried forward to strike her. The Black Spanish Cock began to ruffle his neck feathers and stretch his head forward. He did not mean to have their visitor treated so.
Once when the fellows were gathering haws out there they began to have fun with a flock of turkeys, especially the gobblers, and one boy got an old gobbler to following him while he walked slowly backward, and teased him. The other boys would not have told him for anything when they saw him backing against a low stump.
He hoped that he would not be able to shoot straight, but this hope was instantly blasted, for a flock of wild turkeys came down into the cornfield about ninety yards from his cabin, and although he seldom shot anything in his own clearing, he now tried a shot at the turkey gobbler and shot it dead where it strutted.
As he went on along the narrow bridle path, under the magnificent boughs, his countenance was brighter and more joyous, and he broke once or twice into a song. Suddenly, while he was humming thus in a low tune, to himself, a still "croak!" attracted his attention, and he stopped abruptly. "Ah!" he murmured, "that's a good big gobbler, and I'll see about him!"
For he had caught his speckled gobbler and put him down at the foot of the stairs in the wagon-house cellar; and he got a sheet of hemlock bark, four feet long by two or three feet wide, such as are peeled off hemlock logs, and sold at tanneries, for the turkey to stand on.
Suddenly I saw a turkey head stick up over the log. Then! up hopped a beautiful gobbler. He walked along the log, looked and peered, and stretched his neck. Sure he was suspicious. Edd gave me a hunch, which I took to be a warning to shoot quick. That was a hard place for me. I wanted to watch the gobbler. I wanted to see the others. We could hear them all over the glade. But this was my chance.
Young Master Meadow Mouse had often peeped at Turkey Proudfoot from behind a clump of grass, or a hill of corn. But he had never dared show himself to Turkey Proudfoot. Somehow the old gobbler looked terribly fierce. And he was so big that Master Meadow Mouse didn't like the idea of even saying "Good day!" to him. He had heard Turkey Proudfoot spoken of as a "gobbler."
It is terribly cruel, teacher says." "Why does the bull get mad at the flag?" "Because it is red, and they can't stand that color. Neither can turkey gobblers. Don't you remember you had on a red coat when Mr. Hartman's gobbler chased you?" "Oh," said Peace, much enlightened. She had received the information she sought, and was content.
I am goin' 'cross the crick fer that turkey I hear gobblin'," he answered, stopping at the gate and smiling brightly at Betty. "Hello, Harry Bennet. Going after that turkey? I have heard him several mornings and he must be a big, healthy gobbler," said Colonel Zane, stepping to the door. "You are going to have company. Here comes Wetzel." "Good morning, Lew.
His 'best hold' was ants. He never was surprised at anything, and never was afraid of anything. He would drive the turkey gobbler and the rooster. He would advance upon them holding one wing up as high as possible, as if to strike with it, and shuffle along the ground toward them, scolding all the while in a harsh voice.
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