BONNY was only six years old when it happened. He went to the mill, one
day, with his uncle, riding in front of him on the old gray mare, while
the bags of corn hung over on each side.
While Uncle Allen talked with the miller, Bonny ran about, peeping here
and there; and at last he strayed off into the pasture to see the red
calf with the three spots on its nose. He was gone so long that Uncle
Allen thought he had run away home, so he rode off with two bags of
flour instead of the corn.
Bonny was rather frightened when he found he must go home alone through
the woods, a distance of three miles, but he was a sturdy little
fellow, and would not let the miller know that he was afraid.
Off he trudged, with his hands in his pockets, whistling the merriest
tune he knew, to keep his courage up,—“Tra la lira la!” Very gayly it
sounded through the bare woods, for it was early spring, and the leaves
were only just beginning to break out of their woolly coverings. The
red squirrels came out of their holes to look at him, and the little
wood-mice sat and chattered at the doors of their houses. Bonny was
used to these little creatures, and only whistled louder when he saw
them; but presently he came to something that made him stop whistling
and open his mouth very wide indeed with surprise.
On the stump of a fallen tree sat a great bird with mottled feathers,
which spread around and over the stump. It was a wild turkey, Bonny
knew, for Uncle Allen had told him just what they looked like, though
he had never seen one.
When the turkey saw him, she rose up for a moment, and he saw that she
was sitting on a nest full of brown eggs. Then she settled down again,
folded her wings over her treasure, and glared fiercely at the intruder.
Bonny stood quite still for some time, wondering what he should do. He
wanted the eggs,—not all, but just a few, to show Uncle Allen. But the
turkey was very large and very fierce-looking, with her glaring, yellow
eyes and her sharp beak; and Bonny was only six years old.
On the whole, he thought the wisest plan would be to go straight home
and tell Uncle Allen about it; and then they would come together and
drive the turkey away, and get a few of the beautiful mottled egg.
Full of his new idea, the little fellow ran on, and finally reached
home before dark. But here a sad disappointment awaited him, for Uncle
Allen—Bonny had no father or mother, and lived with his uncle—would not
believe that he had seen a wild turkey at all.
“Pooh! pooh!” he said. “Nonsense, my lad! you saw a partridge; or it
might be a hen that had stolen a nest, as the saying is. There are no
wild turkeys about here that ever I heard of. Get your supper now, and
go to bed, like a good little lad. We have had a fine worry about you,
thinking you were lost.”
Bonny _knew_ it was a wild turkey that he had seen, and he was very
unhappy because his story was only half believed.
“If I could only have got an egg!” he said to himself, over and over.
“If I had only one egg to show, they would know that I am right. But I
know it! I do! I do!” He ate his supper, and went to bed with his head
full of the wild turkey, but he was so tired that he fell asleep in
spite of himself.
It seemed as if Bonny had only been asleep five minutes when something
struck him very hard on the head, and woke him up. He cried out, and
opened his eyes in a great fright. Where was he? Why was he so cold?
Why were his feet wet?
At first the child was bewildered with fright and amazement; but when
he came to himself, he found that he was standing in the midst of a
wood, alone, barefooted, clad only in his little flannel nightgown, in
the dead of night.
Poor Bonny! poor little lad! And what was he holding up in his
nightgown, holding tight with both hands? He let go his hold, and down
fell—the wild turkey’s eggs!
The child had walked there in his sleep, and had found the bird gone,
or else driven her away, he never could know which. As he raised his
head after gathering up the eggs, a branch must have struck him on the
head and waked him.
But oh, to get home! It was so cold, so wet! He shivered with fear,
as well as with the chill; but this time he would not go back
empty-handed. Surely, the eggs could not be _all_ broken?
No, here was one whole one! Clasp it tight, little Bonny, and run!
Follow your own little footprints, pit-pat, pit-pat, back through the
dark woods,—the moon shining through the trees, and making just enough
light for you to see your way,—across the meadow, up the lane and
then,—oh! then scamper, run! rush over the home-field, home! home at
last!
Pit-pat, softly, up the back stairs, after closing the door, which he
found swinging wide open, and the little shivering figure crept into
its little bed, cuddled down under the bedclothes and lay as still as a
mouse.
Great was the outcry in the morning when Bonny told his story.
“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” cried Uncle Allen.
But there was the turkey’s egg, and there were the little muddy
footprints at the back door and up the stairs.
Then Uncle Allen followed the tracks, and went himself across the field
and down the lane and over the meadow and through the wood. And when he
came to the nest on the stump and the broken eggs, with the print of
the little bare feet close by, he said, “Well, well! I declare! now, I
do!”
And he went home and gave Bonny a big orange and ten cents and his old
jackknife. But Aunt Lucy kept him in bed till noon, and made him drink
hot lemonade every hour to take out the cold; and he had the kitten to
play with, and Grandma’s spectacles, and he didn’t catch cold, after
all.