"I had fifty." Buckley looked sternly at Frank, and continued: "Half of them have been stolen by you Yankee thieves. And you know it."
"Stolen! If that isn't too bad!" exclaimed Frank. "I am sure I have never had one of them. Are you certain they have been stolen? I heard a gobbler over in the woods here, as I came along."
"You did?" said the man.
Frank thought it only a very white lie he was telling, having heard, at all events, a very good imitation of a gobbler. He repeated roundly his assertion. The man regarded him with a steady scowling scrutiny for near a minute, his surly lips apart, his hands thrust into his pockets. Frank, who could speak the truth with as clear and beautiful a brow as ever was seen, could not help wincing a little under the old fellow's slow, sullen, suspicious observation.
"Boy," said the man, without taking his hands from his pockets, "you're a lying to me!"
"Very well," said Frank, turning on his heel, "if you think so, then I suppose it isn't your turkey."
"And what are you going to do about it?" said the man.
"The federal army," said Frank, with a smile, "has need of that turkey. I shall take him, and settle with the owner when he turns up."
And he walked off. The man was evidently more than half convinced there was a turkey in the woods—probably one that had escaped when a part of his flock was stolen.
"Toby," said he, "fetch my gun."