“That’s Joseph,” he groaned.
“Then take a good, big, fat turkey—that one there, if you can get him,” said Becca. “They are all mine.”
The turkey was quietly secured.
“Now take one for yourself,” said Becca.
Number two came down from the perch.
“How many men are there in your hospital?” asked Jack, who had responded to his mother’s summons, and was holding a pair of warm stockings in his hand.
“Twelve.”
“Give him another, Bec—there’s a good girl; three turkeys ain’t a bone too many for twelve hungry men,” prompted Jack.
“Take three!” said Becca. “My pa never counts my turkeys.”