She looked into the western farmer's face, no doubt expecting a spasm or convulsion, but it was calm--calm as night. Mopsey condescended not another word, but walking or rather shuffling disdainfully away, muttered to herself, "Dat is de very meanest man, for a white man, I ever did see; he looked at dat 'ere punkin which has cost me so many anxious days and sleepless nights--which I have watched over as though it had been my own child--which I planted wid dis here hand of my own, and fought for agin the June bugs and the white frost, and dat mouse dat's been tryin to eat it up for dis tree weeks and better--just as if it had been a small green cowcumber. I don't believe dat Oliver Peabody knows it is tanksgivin'. He's a great big fool." "I see you still keep some of the old red breed, father," said Oliver when they were left alone in the quiet of the garden, pointing to the red rooster, who stood on the wall in the sun. "Yes," old Sylvester answered, "for old times' sake. We have had them with us now on the farm for better than a hundred years. I remember the day the great grandfather of this bird was brought among us. It was the day we got news that good David Brainard, the Indian missionary, died--that was some while before the revolutionary war. He died in the arms of the great Jonathan Edwards, at Northampton; their souls are at peace." "I recollect this fellow," Oliver continued, referring to the red rooster, "When I was here last he was called Elbridge's bird, that was the year before last." "There is no Elbridge now," said the old grandfather. "I know all," said Oliver, "I had a letter from Margaret, telling me the story and begging me to keep a watch for her boy." "A wide watch to keep and little to be got by it, I fear," old Sylvester added. "Not altogether idle, perhaps; we have sharp eyes in the West and see many strange things. Jane is confident she saw our Elbridge, making through Ohio, but two months after he left here; he was riding swiftly, and in her surprise and suddenness she could neither call nor send after him." "You did not tell us of that," said the old man. "No, I waited some further discovery." "Be silent now, you may easily waken hopes to be darkened and dashed to the ground. Which way made the boy?" "Southward." During this discourse, as though he distinguished the sound of his young master's name and knew to what it related, Chanticleer walked slowly, and as if by accident or at leisure, up and down the garden-wall, keeping as near to the speakers as was at all seemly. When they stopped speaking he leaped gently to the ground and softly clapped his wings.