daily ration of old Scotch whiskey, she dropped a little drop into a
spoon, diluted it with water, and was going to give it to the turkey
in all seriousness, when Kate exclaimed,--

"Peggy! when will you learn common sense? Who ever heard of giving
whiskey to a turkey?"

"Why, you told me to, Kate!"

"Oh, give it to the thing!" growled Peter; "it will die, of course."

"I shall give it!" said Peggy, resolutely; "it does _me_ good,
and I will try."

So I held the little creature up, while Peggy carefully tipped the
dose down its throat. How it choked, kicked, and began again with
"week! week!" when it meant "strong!" but it revived. Peggy held it in
the sun till it grew warm, gave it a drop more, fed it with
bread-crumbs from her own plate, and laid it on the south
window-sill. There it lay when we went to tea; when we came back, it
lay on the floor, dead; either it was tipsy, or it had tried its new
strength too soon, and, rolling off, had broken its neck! Poor Peggy!

There were six more hatched the next day, though, and I held many
consultations with Melindy about their welfare. Truth to tell, Kate
continued so cool to me, Peter's sprained ankle lasted so long, and
Peggy could so well spare me from the little matrimonial
_tête-à-têtes_ that I interrupted, (I believe they didn't mind
Kate!) that I took wonderfully to the chickens. Mrs. Tucker gave me
rye-bread and milk of the best; "father" instructed me in the