my tail!" cried Mr. Grouse.

"It's too small," Turkey Proudfoot declared. "Now, if you want to see a
tail that _is_ a tail--"

"I don't!" cried Mr. Grouse. "Not if you want me to look at yours! In
fact, I don't care to talk with you any more. I was going to suggest a
pleasant way for you to spend Thanksgiving Day. But nothing I say seems
to please you. Besides, you began to boast about your tail the moment
you entered this clearing. And if there's anybody I can't endure, it's
a boaster." He was a rough and ready sort of fellow--this Mr. Grouse.
When he had anything to say he didn't go beating about the bush. He came
right out in the open and spoke his mind freely.

You might think that Turkey Proudfoot would have taken his cousin's
remarks to heart. But he didn't. He was so pleased with his own tail
that to him it was the biggest thing in the world. Indeed, when he
spread his tail and looked at it he could see nothing else.

"You are jealous," he told Mr. Grouse. "And I can't blame you. It's only
natural that you should look at my tail with envy. Everybody does down
at the farmyard."

Turkey Proudfoot must have forgotten all about the peacock, when he
spoke. Anyhow, he gazed around at his tail with great admiration.

All at once there was a terrible, loud _whirring_ sound. Turkey
Proudfoot started up in alarm. To his amazement, where Mr. Grouse had
been sitting on the log there was now nothing at all.

"Up! Up!" It was Mr. Grouse's voice that Turkey Proudfoot heard; and it
seemed to come from the tree right above his head.

Although Turkey Proudfoot didn't like to obey anybody's orders--and
certainly not Mr. Grouse's--there was a note of alarm in the cry that
made him squall with terror. He started to run, flapping his wings
awkwardly. And just as he rose into the air a reddish, brownish streak
flashed beneath him.

Turkey Proudfoot settled himself on a branch of an old oak and looked
down at a sharp-faced, grinning person who leered up at him. It was
Tommy Fox. And though he looked very pleasant, inside he was feeling
quite peevish. If it hadn't been for Mr. Grouse's warning he would
surely have captured Turkey Proudfoot.

It was like Turkey Proudfoot not to thank his cousin. And it was like
him, too, to fly into a rage.

"You might have warned me sooner," he complained to Mr. Grouse. "That
red rascal is quick as lightning. He almost caught me."

"I thought you'd follow me when you saw me rise," said Mr.