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The other little girl tried to tell him that she was not to blame, and that she only took a very, very little piece.

“But it was right off the breast,” said the gobbler, and he shed tears, so that the other little girl cried, too. She didn’t have much hopes, they all seemed so spiteful, especially the little turkey chicks; but she told them that she was very tender-hearted, and never hurt a single thing, and she tried to make them understand that there was a great difference between eating people and just eating turkeys.

“What difference, I should like to know?” says the old hen-turkey, pretty snappishly.

“People have got souls, and turkeys haven’t,” says the other little girl.

“I don’t see how that makes it any better,” says the old hen-turkey. “It don’t make it any better for the turkeys. If we haven’t got any souls, we can’t live after we’ve been eaten up, and you can.”

The other little girl was awfully frightened to have the hen-turkey take that tack.

“I should think she would ‘a’ been,” said the little girl; and she cuddled snugger into her papa’s arms. “What could she say? Ugh! Go on.”

Well, she didn’t know what to say, that’s a fact. You see, she never thought of it in that light before. All she could say was, “Well, people have got reason, anyway, and turkeys have only got instinct; so there!”

“You’d better look out,” says the old hen-turkey; and all the little turkey chicks got so mad they just hopped, and the oldest little he-turkey, that was just beginning to be a gobbler, he dropped his wings and spread his tail just like his father, and walked round the other little girl till it was perfectly frightful.

“I should think they would ‘a’ been ashamed.”

Well, perhaps old First Premium was a little; because he stopped them. “My dear,” he says to the old hen-turkey, and chick-chickledren, “you forget yourselves; you should have a little consideration. Perhaps you wouldn’t behave much better yourselves if you were just going to be eaten.”

And they all began to scream and to cry, “We’ve been eaten, and we’re nothing but turkey ghosts.”

“There, now, papa,” says the little girl, sitting up straight, so as to argue better, “I knew it wasn’t true, all along. How could turkeys have ghosts if they don’t have souls, I should like to know?”

“Oh, easily,” said the papa.

“Tell how,” said the little girl.

“Now look here,” said the papa, “are you telling this story, or am I?”

“You are,” said the little girl, and she cuddled down again. “Go on.”

“Well, then, don’t you interrupt. Where was I? Oh yes.”

Well, he couldn’t do anything with them, old First Premium couldn’t. They acted perfectly ridiculous, and one little brat of a spiteful little chick piped out, “I speak for a drumstick, ma!” and then they all began: “I want a wing, ma!” and “I’m going to have the wish-bone!” and “I shall have just as much stuffing as ever I please, shan’t I, ma?” till the other little girl was perfectly disgusted with them; she thought they oughtn’t to say it before her, anyway; but she had hardly thought this before they all screamed out, “They used to say it before us,” and then she didn’t know what to say, because she knew how people talked before animals.

“I don’t believe I ever did,” said the little girl. “Go on.”

Well, old First Premium tried to quiet them again, and when he couldn’t he apologized to the other little girl so nicely that she began to like him. He said they didn’t mean any harm by it; they were just excited, and chickledren would be chickledren.

“Yes,” said the other little girl, “but I think you might take some older person to begin with. It’s a perfect shame to begin with a little girl.”

“Begin!” says old First Premium. “Do you think we’re just beginning? Why, when do you think it is?”