This droll crane had a weakness for eggs—strange, perhaps, but true. When he found one, he tossed it high in air, and in descending caught it cleverly. Next second there was an empty egg-shell on the ground, and some kind of a lump sliding slowly down the Admiral’s extended gullet. When it was fairly landed, the bird expressed his delight by dancing a double-triple fandango, which was partly jig, partly hornpipe, and all the rest a Highland schottische.
“Get out, Admiral!—get out, I tell ye!” cried the boy. “W’y, ye stoopid, if the door slams, off goes yer head.”
The bird seemed to fully appreciate the danger, and at once withdrew.
Ransey placed the two turkey’s eggs on a shelf near the little gable window. One pane of glass was broken, and was stuffed with hay.
Well, the Admiral had been watching the boy, and as soon as his back was turned, it didn’t take the bird long to pull out that hay.
“O ’Ansey, ’ook! ’ook!” cried Babs.
It was too late, however, for looking to do any good. For the same yard of neck that had, a few minutes before, appeared round the edge of the doorway, was now thrust through the broken pane, and only one turkey’s egg was left.
Babs looked very sad. She considered for a bit, then said solemnly,—
“’Oo mus’ have the odel (other) tu’key’s egg. You is dooder nor me.”
But Ransey didn’t have it. He contented himself with bread and milk.