HALSTEAD'S GOBBLER At that time a flock of twenty or thirty turkeys was usually raised at the old farm every fall--fine, great glossy birds.

Nearly every farmhouse had its flock; and by October that entire upland county resounded to the plaintive _Yeap-yeap, yop-yop-yop!_ and the noisy _Gobble-gobble-gobble!_ of the stupid yet much-prized "national bird." At present you may drive the whole length of our county and neither hear nor see a turkey.
In their young days the old Squire and Judge Fessenden of Portland, later in life Senator Fessenden, had been warm friends; and after the old Squire chose farming for a vocation and went to live at the family homestead, he was wont to send the judge a fine turkey for Thanksgiving--purely as a token of friendship and remembrance.

The judge usually acknowledged the gift by sending in return an interesting book, or other souvenir, sometimes a new five-dollar greenback--when he could not think of an appropriate present.
The old Squire did not like to accept money from an old friend, and after we young people went home to Maine to live he transferred to us the privilege of sending Senator Fessenden a turkey for Thanksgiving, and allowed us to have the return present.
By September we began to look the flock over and pick out the one that bade fair to be the largest and handsomest in November.

There was much "hefting" and sometimes weighing of birds on the barn scales.

We carefully inspected their skins under their feathers, for we sent the judge a "yellow skin," and never a "blue skin," however heavy.
That autumn there was considerable difference of opinion among us which young gobbler, out of twenty or more, was the best and promised to "dress off" finest by Thanksgiving.