d juicy, and your drumsticks were like sticks of candy."

"And you broke my poor old wishbone with your little sister, didn't
you?"

"I did."

"And what did you wish?" asked the gobbler.

"You mustn't ask me that," replied Donald, "because, you know, if I
tell you the wish I made it would not come true."

"But it was my wishbone," persisted the gobbler, "and I think I ought
to know something about it."

"You have rights, I suppose, and your argument is not without force,"
replied Donald, with calm dignity.

The gobbler was puzzled at so lofty a reply, and not understanding it,
said:

"I am only the ghost, or spirit, of the gobbler you ate to-day, but
still I remember how one day last summer you threw a pan of water on
me, and alluded to my wattles as a red necktie, and called me 'Old
Harvard,' Now, come along!"

"Where?" asked Donald.

"To Wishbone Valley, where you will see the spirits of my ancestors
eaten by your family."

It was now dusk, and Donald didn't like the idea of going to such a
place. He was a brave, courageous boy, on most occasions, but the idea
of going to Wishbone Valley when the stars were appearing filled him
with a dread that he didn't like to acknowledge even to the ghost of a
gobbler.

"I can't go with you now, Mr. Gobbler," he said, "because I have a lot
of lessons to study for next Monday; wait until to-morrow, and I will
gladly go with you."

"Come along," replied the gobbler, with a provoked air, "and let your
lessons go until to-morrow, when you will have plenty of light."

Thereupon the gobbler extended his wing and took Donald by the hand,
and started on a trot.

"Not so fast," protested Donald.

"Why not?" demanded the gobbler in surprise.

"Because," replied Donald, with a groan, "I have just had my dinner,
and I'm too full of you to run."

So the gobbler kindly and considerately slackened his pace to a walk,
and the two proceeded out of the barnyard and across a wide meadow to
a little valley surrounded by a dense thicket. The moon was just
rising and the thicket was silvered by its light, while the dry leaves
rustled weirdly in the cold crisp air.

"This," said the gobbler, "is Wishbone Valley. Look and see."

Donald strained his eyes, and, sure enough, there were wishbones
sticking out of the ground in every direction. He thought they looked
like little croquet hoops, but he made no comments, for fear of
offending the old gobbler. But he felt that he must s