I will tell you.

Early in the spring her uncle had given her a young turkey.

"There, Bessie," he had said, "that is one of the prettiest
turkeys I have ever seen. I will give him into your care, and on
Thanksgiving Day we will have him on the dinner-table."

For some time Bessie fed the turkey every day without feeling
particularly fond of him. Very soon, however, he began to know
her; he not only ran to meet her when she brought him his corn
and meal, but he would follow her about just the way Mary's
little lamb followed HER about.

Her uncle often called after her: "And everywhere that Bessie
goes, the turkey's sure to go."

Yes, round the garden, up and down the avenue, and even into the
house itself the turkey followed Bessie.

Then why was she so sad?

Alas! she remembered her uncle's words when he gave her the
turkey, "On Thanksgiving Day we will have him on the table."

Thanksgiving Day would be here in a week.

Now, if Bessie had been like some little girls, she would have
told her trouble to her uncle. But she never mentioned it to any