Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 39, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 November 1906 — A TURKEY HUNT. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A TURKEY HUNT.

By Linda Woodruff Beach.

We came very near not being thankful at all this year—for how was it possible to be thankful without turkey? And this desirable bird so pertinaciously dodged OUT earnest attempts to apply the possessive pronoun that we began to despair of ever owning one, and, unfortunately, we wanted thrpe. Any one could spend the summer in the country —than was commonplace enough; but Thanksgiving and Christmas would be a new revelation of beauty and comfort to people accustomed to confined views and brick walls. So we stayed and chestnutted, and gathered stacks of bright-hued maple leaves, and wrote such glowing accounts of the good times we were having to all our friends and relatives that two or three of them, without ceremony, invited themselves to spend Thanksgiving with us. We then concluded that we might as well make a merry party of it, and invited a number more, until about eighteen or twenty people had promised to eat their Thanksgiving dinner at our table. A lovely day in Indian summer, and with that soft haze over the purple-tip-ped mountains in the distance, two woman of us drove off in h most unromantic expedition after turkeys. We had been furnished with a regular list by the neighbor, and we agreed first to attack a certain Mrs. Simes. A woman in a sun-bonnet-issued from -the gate as we drove UP, and in answer to our inquiry, informed us that “Miss Simes was jest settin’ to.” As it was approaching the hour of noon, this probably meant that Mrs. Simes was on the eve of dining. The house looked hermetically sealed. The door was opened by the very lady we were in quest of, a motherly looking personage, who appeared to have boen trying to do half a dozen things at once, as her hands were floury, the bosom of her dress was stuck with pins, while the skirt was wet with recent dabbling in the water, and she was hastily disposing of some edible which had evidently been popped into her mouth just as she came to the door. , J Having told her where we lived, how long we had lived there, how long we expected to live there, and various other things relating to our domestic matters, we worked our way gradually to the turkeys, and modestly asked her if she could accommodate us with three. Passing through the doorway that opened into the kitchen, Mrs. Simes threw her voice upstairs, and shrieked: “Emmerline! Em-mer-iitte/” “Haow?” was the reply, in a voice that seemed to break the drums of our ear*. "How many turkeys can we spare toil Mlir | “Can epare ony,”Wd the dredful voice. 1 “ShoI” returned the old lady as she ended the colloquy; “guese we ken epare sue. How’ll that do?" We informed Mrs. Sitnee that It wouldn’t do at alt The offer of one turkey in place of three was a perfect insult, and rather indignant that our tltne had been wasted for nothing, we left our bos tee* to finish her "settin’ to." The second one on the list was of the male' persuasion, “and a* great an old screw a* ever livid,” we were confidentialIp informed. We found him at work in the barn, a very hard-looking specimen

indeed. When he was made aware of the nature of our errand he eyed us suspiciously. “Seemed to him we were takin’ time by the forelock; it wanted three hull weeks to Thanksgivin’ yet.” We were taking time by the forelock, we admitted, because people made such a rush for turkeys at the last that we were afraid of not getting any then. “That's jest it,” he rejoined, with a shrewd grin, “and I guess I’ll keep mine till they go up." Several people in .succession, who had refused us their own turkeys strongly advised a visit to "Job Tiller.” He had no end of a flock, and maybe we could make a trade. .■ To Job Tiller we accordingly went. As soon as we,had said “turkeys,” he led die way_to the backward, where we_beheld a pen of turkeys, hens and gobblers, at least fifty all told. “Shoot in’ comes off on the 25th,” said the proprietor. —AVe exchanged a look of interrogation. “Shooting? What shooting? We wanted to buy turkeys.” "Twenty-five cents a chance,” responded Mr. Tiller. We were turkeyless, and all those expected guests loomed up before us as a hungry multitude clamoring to be fed. We were approaching our cottage in a dispirited frame of mind, when we encountered a small boy, and some happy in-

spiration prompted us to inquire what he knew about turkeys. "He’d got three,” he said, “that he’d been a-fatten’ a-puppus for Thanksgivin’, and we could have ’em like as not.” Where did he live? we asked next. The future possible President turned his thumb in the direction of our back premises. and said that his name was Sam Flale. If he had said it was Norval on tae Grampion Hills, we could scarcely have been more surprised. Hadn’t those wretched turkeys belonging to our undesirable neighbors, the Flales, been the pest land destruction of our gardening operations all summer? and hadn’t pater faIhalias threatened to shoot them until he Kas hoarse? And wasn’t It rather funny dtiat, after all our toil thnd tribulation, the coveted turkeys could be found under afcr very noses, and delicately fattened for us on the best of sweet corn and tomatoes, and other “sass” that turkeys delight in—all from our own garden? Somebody said the dinner was a poem, and it certainly was a triumphant success. The company were in raptures; and one guest, who had never lived in the country, said it was so easy for us to get good poultry. Then we told our atory, and the I peals of laughter that reverberated,

around the table, were called forth by our turkey hunt and its very unexpected end-ing.—-People’s Home Journal.