We named him Dick. He is the hero of this Sketch. Dick was intelligent,
sociable, and had a good appetite. He would eat any thing, from a crust
of bread to the pieces of candy that the schoolgirls would give him as
they passed. He became as gentle as a dog, and would answer to his name.
He had the freedom of the town, and went where he pleased, returning at
meal-times, and at night to roost on the western end of the
kitchen-roof. He would eat from our hands, looking at us with a sort of
human expression in his shiny eyes. If he were a hundred yards away, all
we had to do was to go to the door and call out, "Dick!"
"Dick!" once or twice, and here he would come, stretching his long legs,
and saying, "Oot," "oot," "oot" (is that the way to spell it?). He got
to like going about with me. He would go with me to the post-office, to
the market, and sometimes he would accompany me in a pastoral visit.
Dick was well known and popular. Even the bad boys of the town did not
throw stones at him. His ruling passion was the love of eating. He ate
between meals. He ate all that was offered to him. Dick was a pampered
turkey, and made the most of his good luck and popularity. He was never
in low spirits, and never disturbed except when a dog came about him.
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