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Tale of Turkey Proudfoot (version 2)

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<h2>XIV</h2> <h3>A PROUD PERSON</h3> The peacock in front of the farmhouse paid no heed to Turkey Proudfoot, but moved very slowly and very haughtily about the lawn. His huge tail was spread like a sail. In the light summer breeze it swayed and rippled, sending out a thousand shimmering gleams. And on his tail were dozens of eyes. At least they looked like eyes to Turkey Proudfoot. And they all seemed to be trying to out-stare him. For a minute or two Turkey Proudfoot glared at this newcomer—this new pet of Johnnie Green's. Then, after first spreading his own tail to its fullest size, he swaggered up to the peacock. "You needn't pretend not to see me," Turkey Proudfoot gobbled. "You can't fool me. You've a hundred eyes on your tail. And they've been looking at me steadily." The peacock calmly turned his head and glanced at Turkey Proudfoot. He did not answer. Turkey Proudfoot thrust his own head forward. "Maybe I'm not good enough for you to speak to," he began. "Maybe I'm not enough of a dandy—" Just then somebody interrupted him. It was Henrietta Hen. Being a prying sort of person she had followed Turkey Proudfoot around the house to see what happened when he and the newcomer met. "Don't be rude to this gentleman," said Henrietta Hen. "He hasn't spoken since he arrived in the wagon an hour ago. We've about decided that he is dumb. And it's a great pity if he is. No doubt his voice—if he had one—would be as beautiful as his tail." At that the peacock opened his mouth. Out of it there came the harshest sounds that had ever been heard on the farm. Turkey Proudfoot was so startled that he threw his head into the air and took several steps backward. As for Henrietta Hen, she cackled in terror and ran out of the yard and crossed the road, where she narrowly escaped being run over by a passing wagon. "My goodness!" Turkey Proudfoot thought. "It's no wonder this Peacock doesn't talk much. If I had a voice like his I'd never use it." He didn't know what the peacock had said. Somehow his voice was so awful that Turkey Proudfoot had caught no actual words that meant anything to him. Again the peacock screamed. Henrietta Hen heard him. And she was so flustered that she ran back and forth across the road three times and was almost trampled on by a horse. At last Turkey Proudfoot understood what the peacock said. "Are you a barnyard fowl?" he had asked. "Yes, I am," said Turkey Proudfoot. "Aren't you?" "No!" the peacock replied. "My place is out here in front of the house where people can see me when they drive by.... Probably," he added, "we shan't see much of each other." So saying, he walked stiffly away and mounted the stone wall, where passing travellers would be sure to notice him and admire his beauty. All this was a terrible blow to Turkey Proudfoot. For a moment he was tempted to rush at the haughty stranger and tear his handsome feathers into tatters. But the peacock looked so huge, standing on top of the wall with his great tail rising above him, and his voice was so frightfully loud and harsh, that Turkey Proudfoot didn't even dare threaten him. And that was something unusual for one who had long claimed to be ruler of the farmyard. <hr class="chapter" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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