ound, and
took their positions on them once more, to take a needed rest, for the
poor ghosts were greatly exhausted.

There was one quiet turkey who had taken no part in the proceedings.

"Why don't you suggest something?" demanded Uncle Sylvester.

"Because," replied the quiet turkey, "Donald never did anything to me,
and I must treat him accordingly. I was raised and killed a long way
from here, and canned. Donald's father bought me at a store. To be a
ghost in good standing I should be on the farm where I was killed,
and really I don't know why I should be here."

"Then you should be an impartial judge," said Aunt Fanny. "Now what
shall we do with him?"

"Tell them to let me go home," protested Donald, "and I'll agree never
to molest or eat turkey again; I will give them all the angleworms I
can dig every day, and on Thanksgiving Day I'll ask my father to have
roast beef."

"I think," replied the impartial canned ghost, "that as all boys
delight in chasing turkeys with sticks, it would be eminently just and
proper for us, with the exception of myself, to chase this boy and
beat him with our' wishbones, to let him learn by experience that
which he could scarcely learn by observation."

"What could I do but eat turkey when it was put on the table?"
protested Donald.

"But you could help chasing us around with sticks," sang the chorus.

They thereupon descended from the wishbones upon which they had been
perching, and flying after him, they darted the wishbones, which they
held in their beaks, into his back and neck as hard as they could.
Donald ran up and down Wishbone Valley, calling upon them to stop, and
declaring that if turkey should ever be put upon the table again he
would eat nothing but the stuffing. When Donald found that the
wishbones were sticking into his neck like so many hornet stings, he
made up his mind that he would run for the house. Finally the
wishbone tattoo stopped, and when he looked around, the gobbler, who
was twenty feet away, said: "When a Thanksgiving turkey dies, his
ghost comes down here to Wishbone Valley to join his ancestors, and it
never after leaves the valley. You will now know why every spring the
turkeys steal down here to hatch their little ones. As you are now
over the boundary line you are safe."

"Thank you," said Donald gratefully.

"Good-bye," sang all the ghosts in chorus.

There was then a great ghostly flapping and whistling, and the turkeys
and wishbones