“Mrs. Wells, here is your little turkey, and it is dead,” said a pitiful
voice. Little Eddie, the ministers son, who was Mrs. Wells’s next-door
neighbor, held the limp turkey in his hand as he stood in the door.
“O, I’m so sorry,” said kind Mrs. Wells, and Edward went home with a
troubled face. Something hurt him so.
“What is the matter with my little boy?” said Eddie’s mother. “All the
sunshine has gone out of his face.”
Eddie gave a deep sigh; then he looked up. “I’m going to tell you all
about it, mamma,” he said; “you know Mrs. Wells’s dear little chickies
and turk-a-lurks? They looked so cunning that I just picked up one
little turkey and hugged it a little bit, and it was dead. The old
mother turkey was ’most crazy. I carried the poor little turkey chick to
Mrs. Wells and told her it was dead, and—and something hurts me so right
in here,” and he clasped his little hands over his heart.
“Was that all you told Mrs. Wells, Eddie?” asked his mother, gravely.
[Illustration]
“Yes’m,” said Eddie; but a little later she saw him trudging toward Mrs.
Wells’s door. “I killed your turkey, I squeezed it so hard. Will you
please to forgive me?” said little Eddie.
Mrs. Wells said, “Yes, dear; you didn’t mean to kill it, I know.”
When Eddie came home the sunshine was in his face again. “I told her the
whole truth, mamma, and the hurt is gone,” he said, gleefully.
[Illustration:
A General Smash-up.
]