hanksgivin' I ever seen,
and I hope the good Lord will spar' us all for yet a few more."

A THANKSGIVING DINNER THAT FLEW AWAY[26]

BY HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.

A Cape Cod story about a wise old gander whose adventure on
the sea insured him against the perils of the Thanksgiving
hatchet. For boys or girls.

There is one sound that I shall always remember. It is "Honk!"

[Footnote 26: From "Zigzag Journeys in Acadia and New France,"
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company.]

I spun around like a top, one summer day when I heard it, looking
nervously in every direction.

I had just come down from the city to the Cape with my sister Hester
for my third summer vacation. I had left the cars with my arms full of
bundles, and hurried toward Aunt Targood's.

The cottage stood in from the road. There was a long meadow in front
of it. In the meadow were two great oaks and some clusters of lilacs.
An old, mossy stone wall protected the grounds from the road, and a
long walk ran from the old wooden gate to the door.

It was a sunny day, and my heart was light. The orioles were flaming
in the old orchards; the bobolinks were tossing themselves about in
the long meadows of timothy, daisies, and patches of clover. There
was a scent of new-mown hay in the air.

In the distance lay the bay, calm and resplendent, with white sails
and specks of boats. Beyond it rose Martha's Vineyard, green and cool
and bowery, and at its wharf lay a steamer.

I was, as I said, light-hearted. I was thinking of rides over the
sandy roads at the close of the long, bright days; of excursions on
the bay; of clambakes and picnics.

I was hungry, and before me rose visions of Aunt Targood's fish
dinners, roast chickens, and berry pies. I was thirsty, but ahead was
the old well sweep, and behind the cool lattice of the dairy window
were pans of milk in abundance.

I tripped on toward the door with light feet, lugging my bundles, and
beaded with perspiration, but unmindful of all discomforts in the
thought of the bright days and good things in store for me.

"Honk! honk!"

My heart gave a bound!

_Where_ did that sound come from?

Out of a cool cluster of innocent-looking lilac bushes I saw a dark
object cautiously moving. It seemed to have no head. I knew, however,
that it had a head. I had seen it; it had seized me once in the
previous summer, and I had been in terror of it during all the rest of
the season.

I looked down in