To the surprise of us all, Job's turkey lived to be a full-grown bird, and, unlike the traditional Job's turkey, grew as plump and fat as any turkey need wish to be.
Yes, it lived and grew fat, but perhaps, after all, it was an unenviable kind of life, for it lost that which is the pride of all young gobblers—its tail. There was not a single feather of it left. Job in catching it had so often pulled out so many tail feathers that at last they were all gone.
Nor was this the only trial it had to bear. Job was continually shutting it up, and then changing his mind and letting it out again. One morning, when his mother was picking geese, Job caught his turkey, and gave it to his grandmother to hold until he could fix a coop to put it in. His grandmother, who was entirely blind, thinking that it was a goose, picked almost every feather from its body.
One day Job's father invited a few friends to take dinner with him. The dinner was to be given on the Fourth of July, and Job was very much afraid that his turkey would be sacrificed to the occasion.
"I's moughty feerd dat pap is gwine ter kill dat turkey," he said. "Ef he do, I won't hab no way ter git no money, kaze I won't hab nuffin ter sell w'en de hux'er comes roun'. I hope you won't let him kill dat turkey, missus, he am sich a fine gobbler. Ef 'twas de ole rooster-cock I wo'dn't keer, kaze eberybody knows he ain't no 'count. All he duz is ter walk roun' en 'tend like he's foun' suthin, en scratch up de groun'. Ef he'd git inter de yard, he'd scratch up all de flowers—he wo'd, sho."
"Oh, I guess he'll hardly kill your turkey, Job," I said, trying to re-assure him.
"I don' know," said Job; "I's feerd he will. Yuther day Elder Sales wuz ter our house, en a-readin' outer de Bible 'bout Job. Pap he tole me ter lissen how de man wot I woz named after wuz 'flicted. Den presently he axed de elder whar wuz de passage wot tole 'bout 'Job's turkey.' De elder said he didn't know jes zactly, but he 'lowed he'd soon fin' it. Dey look en dey look, but dey didn't fin' whar 'twas. 'Well,' sez pap atter a while, 'I knows a boy wot's got a turkey, ennyhow, en it's dat ar Job dar; en a moughty fine fat one too. It'll make a good ros' fer us some dese yere days.'"
From a remark that I overheard Old Dick make, I found that he actually did intend to kill Job's turkey. It was too bad, after the trouble the boy had taken to raise it. So that evening when I saw Old Dick, I told him not to kill Job's turkey, and that I would give him one. He bowed and made a great to-do thanking me.
"I'll kill de turkey to-morrow ebenin', so's ter hab it all ready in good season."
Job, who had been weeding a flower bed near by, came up just in time to hear this, and I noticed a peculiar expression on his face, but thought nothing of it at the time. Old Dick then made a low bow, and making Job do the same, the two departed in the direction of their cabin.