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Tale of Turkey Proudfoot

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<h2>XIX</h2><h3>NIGHT IN THE WOODS</h3> Mr. Grouse and Tommy Fox soon went about their business, leaving Turkey Proudfoot to roost in the oak tree in the woods. Though he pretended to be fast asleep, Turkey Proudfoot had kept one eye slightly open. He had seen Tommy Fox trot away toward the pasture. He had heard Mr. Grouse go whirring off into the depths of the woods. "It's too late to go back to the farmyard this evening," Turkey Proudfoot grumbled. "It's almost dusk already. And there's no telling about Tommy Fox. He may be hiding behind a tree, ready to pounce on me the moment I alight on the ground." Turkey Proudfoot actually began to feel a bit sleepy. He was in the habit of going early to roost anyhow. So he huddled low on the branch of the oak tree. And soon he was in the land of dreams. He slept a long time. And while he slept a number of things happened of which he knew nothing. Tommy Fox came stealing back in the moonlight and gazed up at him with longing eyes. Miss Kitty Cat, who had prowled through the pasture on a hunt for field mice, spied him. "I declare, that's Turkey Proudfoot!" she exclaimed. "He must have got lost up here. I certainly shan't wake him and tell him the way home. If I spoke to him he'd be sure to gobble and scare away all the mice in the neighborhood." Benjamin Bat came zigzagging through the air and all but blundered into Turkey Proudfoot. Missing him by the breadth of a wing, Benjamin Bat hung head downward from a near-by limb and stared at the sleeping form. "Hello!" he squeaked. "Here's a newcomer in these woods. I should think he'd cling to that limb upside down. He'd find it a much safer way than sitting on top of the limb." Benjamin Bat was on the point of rousing Turkey Proudfoot and advising him to change his position when a quavering whistle sent Benjamin hurrying away. He knew the voice of Simon Screecher, Solomon Owl's small cousin. And he had no wish to meet him. Turkey Proudfoot stirred in his sleep. He was dreaming—dreaming that Johnnie Green was whistling to old dog Spot to come and drive Turkey Proudfoot out of the newly planted cornfield. The whistling seemed to come nearer and nearer. "I won't stir for old Spot," Turkey Proudfoot gobbled aloud in his sleep. "Maybe you'll stir for me," cried a strange voice. And Turkey Proudfoot woke up with a start. "Where am I?" he bawled. For a moment he couldn't remember having gone to sleep in the woods. "You're right up under Blue Mountain," said Simon Screecher. "It's a dangerous place for a stranger to sleep. There are birds and beasts a-plenty in these woods that would make a meal of you if they caught you here." Turkey Proudfoot yawned. "I'm not worrying," he replied. "Foxes can't climb trees. And I'm as big as any bird in the neighborhood." "You're as big—yes! And bigger than most!" Simon Screecher admitted. "But it isn't bigness alone that counts in the woods," he insisted. "What does count, then?" Turkey Proudfoot demanded. "You ought to be able to guess," said Simon Screecher. "It's right in front of your eyes." <hr class="chapter" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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