"But grandpa, it is not ours," re
"Make it ours" shouted the selfish,
avaricious old man. "Finders keep
ers!" Ruth joined her sister in a hurried
rush the chicken yard. Sure enough,
there, huddling down in one corner,
was a turkey. The roosters were re
senting its intrusion by half-circling
the stranger, with spurs set and eyes
aslant It was as Netta had reported,
a great, beautiful turkey. Ruth had
never seen so royal a bird of its spe
cies. It was of unusual size, stately
and graceful, and its plumage had the
rare iridescence in still blues and J
glossy blacks as attractive as the
hues of a peacock.
"Why," abruptly spoke Ruth, after
a cursory inspection of the fowl, "it's
foot is injured."
This was plain to the view, for one
member was bedabbled with blood.
The turkey was weary-eyed and
panting, as if it mid come quite a
distance. Its foot had seemingly
caught in some barbwire and was
"The poor thing!" exclaimed gentle-hearted
and pitying Ruth. "It
won't do to leave it among the
"Oh, no, the roosters are ready to
peck at it now," joined in Netta.
Finally they decided to carry it up
into the barn, where there was a par-titioned-off
room. As Ruth lifted the
turkey it made no demur or resist
ance. In fact, it seemed to recognize
her as a kindly spirit and quite cud
dled up in her arms. They got some
hay, and in a very brief space of time
the gobbler had a comfortable bed, its
wounded foot salved and bound up,
and a platter of corn and a pan of
water within ready reach.
As the days went on it became a
regular pet to Ruth. She nursed- it,
fed lt,"and the gratefuKbird seemed to
greet her morning ana evening visits
with pleasure. Every day Grandfa
ther Gardner gloated over the pro- j
Bpectlve feast, demanding to know 1
how the coveted fowl was fattening
"Next Sunday, Ruth," he suggest
ed, at the end of a few days, and
Ruth's heart sank. Somehow the
pretty fowl had appealed to her pro
tection. She could not think of hav
ing it killed and eaten, but the old
man was imperious and obstinate. He
would hear of no respite.
It was Saturday afternoon. Ruth
was walking slowly home from the
store. The turkey was on her mind
and she scarcely noticed that a hand
some, well-dressed young man had
caught up with her, was walking by
her side and had lifted his hat cour
teously, until he spoke the worcs:
"Excuse me, miss, but am I headed
right for Hubbard road?"
"I am going in that direction my
self," explained Ruth.
As if he valued the tacit invitation
to keep her company, the young man
fell into her step, keeping up a chat
ty, pleasant conversation that made
her feel interested. His talk was of
the county fair. He had been one of
the exhibitors. Ruth was quite re
luctant to pause and inform him:
"This is Hubbard road."
"Ah, thanks," he bowed, "and can
you further direct me to the Gardner
home? It is for there I am bound."
"As Mr. Gardner is my grandfather
and I live with him, I think I had bet
ter continue to be- your guide," ex
plained Ruth with a smile.
"You're Miss Ruth Warren, then?"
spoke the young man, in surprise and
with pleasure. "Why, then, my "busi
ness is. with you. It is about a tur
key, Rhodame, the prize fowl in its
class, which escaped when the county
fair broke up, and worth many hun
dred dollars for its recovery, and if
you still have it, as I learned in the
town- you did have it "
"You have come just in time,"
spoke Ruth, eagerly and gladly, and
then she told the story of the bird in
Mr. Paul Rivers told his-in turn.
The lost turkey was a rare iowl oX.
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