"Ah! I've always claimed that our family was lucky!" Turkey Proudfoot cried. And he gave his companion a slap on the back with his wing.
Now, that was a jolly thing to do—and not at all like Turkey Proudfoot. But he was glad to see the newcomer. They were brothers. They had been separated when quite young; and they had lived on neighboring farms all their lives.
For a time they talked together pleasantly enough. Of course Turkey Proudfoot couldn't help boasting about the way[p. 119] he ruled the roost when he was at home. But his brother Tom was just as great a boaster. And after a time each began to think the other's stories somewhat tiresome. So they began to yawn. And at last they fell asleep.
A crescent moon peeped down at them from a clear, cold sky that crackled with stars. A chilling breeze swept down the valley. And sometime during the night Turkey Proudfoot woke up and found himself a-shiver. He sidled along the rail and huddled against his brother Tom.
Brother Tom stirred and stretched himself.
"This night's a nipper, isn't it?" he remarked. "I can't help wishing my legs were like Mr. Grouse's."
"Huh!" Turkey Proudfoot exclaimed. "You'd look queer—as fat as you are—if you had legs as short as his."
"Ah! But his legs are feathered out. And there's nothing like feathers to keep the cold off," said Brother Tom.
"I suppose," said Turkey Proudfoot, "Mr. Grouse's legs wouldn't get as cold as ours do, even if he hadn't a feather on them."