Back Aa

Tale of Turkey Proudfoot

Close

<h2>XVIII</h2><h3>RED LIGHTNING</h3> "What's the matter with my tail!" cried Mr. Grouse. "It's too small," Turkey Proudfoot declared. "Now, if you want to see a tail that is a tail—" "I don't!" cried Mr. Grouse. "Not if you want me to look at yours! In fact, I don't care to talk with you any more. I was going to suggest a pleasant way for you to spend Thanksgiving Day. But nothing I say seems to please you. Besides, you began to boast about your tail the moment you entered this clearing. And if there's anybody I can't endure, it's a boaster." He was a rough and ready sort of fellow—this Mr. Grouse. When he had anything to say he didn't go beating about the bush. He came right out in the open and spoke his mind freely. You might think that Turkey Proudfoot would have taken his cousin's remarks to heart. But he didn't. He was so pleased with his own tail that to him it was the biggest thing in the world. Indeed, when he spread his tail and looked at it he could see nothing else. "You are jealous," he told Mr. Grouse. "And I can't blame you. It's only natural that you should look at my tail with envy. Everybody does down at the farmyard." Turkey Proudfoot must have forgotten all about the peacock, when he spoke. Anyhow, he gazed around at his tail with great admiration. All at once there was a terrible, loud whirring sound. Turkey Proudfoot started up in alarm. To his amazement, where Mr. Grouse had been sitting on the log there was now nothing at all. "Up! Up!" It was Mr. Grouse's voice that Turkey Proudfoot heard; and it seemed to come from the tree right above his head. Although Turkey Proudfoot didn't like to obey anybody's orders—and certainly not Mr. Grouse's—there was a note of alarm in the cry that made him squall with terror. He started to run, flapping his wings awkwardly. And just as he rose into the air a reddish, brownish streak flashed beneath him. Turkey Proudfoot settled himself on a branch of an old oak and looked down at a sharp-faced, grinning person who leered up at him. It was Tommy Fox. And though he looked very pleasant, inside he was feeling quite peevish. If it hadn't been for Mr. Grouse's warning he would surely have captured Turkey Proudfoot. It was like Turkey Proudfoot not to thank his cousin. And it was like him, too, to fly into a rage. "You might have warned me sooner," he complained to Mr. Grouse. "That red rascal is quick as lightning. He almost caught me." "I thought you'd follow me when you saw me rise," said Mr. Grouse. "I didn't see you." "Well, you heard me, didn't you?" "I heard a whirring sound," said Turkey Proudfoot, "but I didn't know what it was." "Great snakes!" cried Mr. Grouse. "Farmer Green ought not to let you come into the woods—not if he expects you to spend Thanksgiving Day with him!" Tommy Fox chuckled at that remark. But Turkey Proudfoot never let on that he heard it. He crouched lower upon the limb of the oak tree and pretended to fall asleep. Daylight was fast fading. <hr class="chapter" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2