ay something to
make the gobbler think that he was not frightened, so he remarked, in
an offhand way:

"Let's break one and make a wish."

The ghost of the old gobbler frowned, drew himself up, and uttered a
ghostly whistle that seemed to cut the air. As he did so, the ghosts
of the other turkeys long since eaten popped out of the thickets with
a great flapping of wings, and each one perched upon a wishbone and
gazed upon poor Donald, who was so frightened that his collar flew
into a standing position, while he stood upon his toes, with his knees
knocking together at a great rate.

Every turkey fixed its eyes upon the trembling boy, who was beside
himself with fear.

"What shall we do with him, grandpapa?" asked the gobbler of an
ancient bird that could scarcely contain itself and remain on its
wishbone.

"I cannot think of anything terrible enough, Willie," replied the
grandparent. "It almost makes my ghost-ship boil when I think of the
way in which he used to amuse himself by making me a target for his
bean shooter. Often when I was asleep in the button-ball he would
fetch me one on the side of the head that would give me an earache for
a week. But now it is our turn."

Here the other turkeys broke into a wild chorus of approval.

"Take his bean shooter from his pocket," suggested another bird, "and
let's have a shot at him."

Donald was compelled to hand out his bean shooter, and the grandparent
took it, lay on his back, and with the handle of the bean shooter in
one claw and the missile end in the other began to send pebbles at
Donald at a great rate. He could hear them whistling past his ears,
but could not see them to dodge. Fortunately none struck him, and when
the turkeys felt that they had had fun enough of that kind at his
expense the bean shooter was returned to him.

"Now, then," said the gobbler's Aunt Fanny, "he once gave me a string
of yellow beads for corn."

"What shall we do to him for that?" asked the gobbler.

"Make him eat a lot of yellow beads," said the chorus.

"But we have no beads," said the gobbler sadly.

"Then let's poke him with a stick," suggested the gobbler's Granduncle
Sylvester; "he used to do that to us."

So they all took up their wishbones and poked Donald until he was
sore. Sometimes they would hit him in a ticklish spot, and throw him
into such a fit of laughter that they thought he was enjoying it all
and chaffing them. So they stuck their wishbones into the gr