"Now, then," said the gobbler's Aunt Fanny, "he once gave me a string of yellow beads for corn."
"What shall we do to him for that?" asked the gobbler.
"Make him eat a lot of yellow beads," said the chorus.
"But we have no beads," said the gobbler sadly.
"Then let's poke him with a stick," suggested the gobbler's Granduncle Sylvester; "he used to do that to us."
So they all took up their wishbones and poked Donald until he was sore. Sometimes they would hit him in a ticklish spot, and throw him into such a fit of laughter that they thought he was enjoying it all and chaffing them. So they stuck their wishbones into the ground, and took their positions on them once more, to take a needed rest, for the poor ghosts were greatly exhausted.
There was one quiet turkey who had taken no part in the proceedings.
"Why don't you suggest something?" demanded Uncle Sylvester.
"Because," replied the quiet turkey, "Donald never did anything to me, and I must treat him accordingly. I was raised and killed a long way from here, and canned. Donald's father bought me at a store. To be a ghost in good standing I should be on the farm where I was killed, and really I don't know why I should be here."
"Then you should be an impartial judge," said Aunt Fanny. "Now what shall we do with him?"