Bonny was only six years old when it happened. He went to the mill, one day, with his uncle, riding in front of him on the old gray mare, while the bags of corn hung over on each side.

While Uncle Allen talked with the miller, Bonny ran about, peeping here and there; and at last he strayed off into the pasture to see the red calf with the three spots on its nose. He was gone so long that Uncle Allen thought he had run away home, so he rode off with two bags of flour instead of the corn.

Bonny was rather frightened when he found he must go home alone through the woods, a distance of three miles, but he was a sturdy little fellow, and would not let the miller know that he was afraid.

Off he trudged, with his hands in his pockets, whistling the merriest tune he knew, to keep his courage up,—“Tra la lira la!” Very gayly it sounded through the bare woods, for it was early spring, and the leaves were only just beginning to break out of their woolly coverings. The red squirrels came out of their holes to look at him, and the little wood-mice sat and chattered at the doors of their houses. Bonny was used to these little creatures, and only whistled louder when he saw them; but presently he came to something that made him stop whistling and open his mouth very wide indeed with surprise.

On the stump of a fallen tree sat a great bird with mottled feathers, which spread around and over the stump. It was a wild turkey, Bonny knew, for Uncle Allen had told him just what they looked like, though he had never seen one.

When the turkey saw him, she rose up for a moment, and he saw that she was sitting on a nest full of brown eggs. Then she settled down again, folded her wings over her treasure, and glared fiercely at the intruder.

Bonny stood quite still for some time, wondering what he should do. He wanted the eggs,—not all, but just a few, to show Uncle Allen. But the turkey was very large and very fierce-looking, with her glaring, yellow eyes and her sharp beak; and Bonny was only six years old.

On the whole, he thought the wisest plan would be to go straight home and tell Uncle Allen about it; and then they would come together and drive the turkey away, and get a few of the beautiful mottled egg.

Full of his new idea, the little fellow ran on, and finally reached home before dark. But here a sad disappointment awaited him, for Uncle Allen—Bonny had no father or mother, and lived with his uncle—would not believe that he had seen a wild turkey at all.

“Pooh! pooh!” he said. “Nonsense, my lad! you saw a partridge; or it might be a hen that had stolen a nest, as the saying is. There are no wild turkeys about here that ever I heard of. Get your supper now, and go to bed, like a good little lad. We have had a fine worry about you, thinking you were lost.”

Bonny knew it was a wild turkey that he had seen, and he was very unhappy because his story was only half believed.

“If I could only have got an egg!” he said to himself, over and over. “If I had only one egg to show, they would know that I am right. But I know it! I do! I do!” He ate his supper, and went to bed with his head full of the wild turkey, but he was so tired that he fell asleep in spite of himself.

It seemed as if Bonny had only been asleep five minutes when something struck him very hard on the head, and woke him up. He cried out, and opened his eyes in a great fright. Where was he? Why was he so cold? Why were his feet wet?

At first the child was bewildered with fright and amazement; but when he came to himself, he found that he was standing in the midst of a wood, alone, barefooted, clad only in his little flannel nightgown, in the dead of night.

Poor Bonny! poor little lad! And what was he holding up in his nightgown, holding tight with both hands? He let go his hold, and down fell—the wild turkey’s eggs!

The child had walked there in his sleep, and had found the bird gone, or else driven her away, he never could know which. As he raised his head after gathering up the eggs, a branch must have struck him on the head and waked him.

But oh, to get home! It was so cold, so wet! He shivered with fear, as well as with the chill; but this time he would not go back empty-handed. Surely, the eggs could not be all broken?

No, here was one whole one! Clasp it tight, little Bonny, and run! Follow your own little footprints, pit-pat, pit-pat, back through the dark woods,—the moon shining through the trees, and making just enough light for you to see your way,—across the meadow, up the lane and then,—oh! then scamper, run! rush over the home-field, home! home at last!

Pit-pat, softly, up the back stairs, after closing the door, which he found swinging wide open, and the little shivering figure crept into its little bed, cuddled down under the bedclothes and lay as still as a mouse.

Great was the outcry in the morning when Bonny told his story.

“Pooh! pooh! nonsense!” cried Uncle Allen.

But there was the turkey’s egg, and there were the little muddy footprints at the back door and up the stairs.

Then Uncle Allen followed the tracks, and went himself across the field and down the lane and over the meadow and through the wood. And when he came to the nest on the stump and the broken eggs, with the print of the little bare feet close by, he said, “Well, well! I declare! now, I do!”

And he went home and gave Bonny a big orange and ten cents and his old jackknife. But Aunt Lucy kept him in bed till noon, and made him drink hot lemonade every hour to take out the cold; and he had the kitten to play with, and Grandma’s spectacles, and he didn’t catch cold, after all.