"Narrow squeak," said Stalky. "I'll swear some of the pellets went
through my hair."

"Did you see him?" said Beetle. "I almost put my hand on him. Wasn't
he a wopper! Didn't he stink! Hullo, Turkey, what's the matter? Are
you hit?"

McTurk's lean face had turned pearly white; his mouth, generally half
open, was tight shut, and his eyes blazed. They had never seen him
like this save once in a sad time of civil war.

"Do you know that that was just as bad as murder?" he said, in a
grating voice, as he brushed prickles from his head.

"Well, he didn't hit us," said Stalky. "I think it was rather a lark.
Here, where are you going?"

"I'm going up to the house, if there is one," said McTurk, pushing
through the hollies. "I am going to tell this Colonel Dabney."

"Are you crazy? He'll swear it served us jolly well right. He'll
report us. It'll be a public lickin'. Oh, Turkey, don't be an ass!
Think of us!"

"You fool!" said McTurk, turning savagely. "D'you suppose I'm thinkin'
of _us_? It's the keeper."

"He's cracked," said Beetle, miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this
was a new Turkey--a haughty, angular, nose-lifted Turkey--whom they