16 WINTER 



urged on in the rear by a boy of nineteen, who was 

 followed, in his turn, by an old horse and farm wagon, 

 creeping along behind. 



It was growing more difficult all the time to keep 

 the turkeys moving. But they must not be allowed 

 to stop until darkness should put an end to the 

 march. And they must not be allowed to take to 

 the trees at all. Some of them, indeed, were too 

 weak to roost high; but the flock would never move 

 forward again if exposed in the tall trees on such a 

 night as this promised to be. 



The thing to do was to keep them stirring. Once 

 allow them to halt, give one of them time to pick 

 out a roosting-limb for himself, and the march would 

 be over for that afternoon. The boys knew their 

 flock. This was not their first drive. They knew 

 from experience that once a turkey gets it into his 

 small head to roost, he is bound to roost. Nothing 

 will stop him. And in this matter the flock acts as 

 a single bird. 



In the last village, back along the road, through 

 which they had passed, this very flock took a notion 

 suddenly to go to roost, and to go to roost on a 

 little chapel as the vesper bells were tolling. The 

 bells were tolling, the worshipers were gathering, 

 when, with a loud gobble, one of the turkeys in the 

 flock sailed into the air and alighted upon the ridge- 

 pole beside the belfry! Instantly the flock broke 

 ranks, ran wildly round the little building, and with 



