Jack Frost visited Farmer Crane’s field one night, and the next
morning the gold of the pumpkins shone more brilliantly than ever
through their silver coverings.
“It is of no use,” said one large pumpkin to another lying beside it.
“It is of no use. I was never made to be cut up for pumpkin pies. I
feel I was put here for something higher.”
“Why, what do you mean?” said the other. “You never seemed
dissatisfied before. You quite take my breath away.”
“Well, to tell the truth, I do not like the thought of being cut up
and served on a table like an ordinary pumpkin. See how large I am,
and what a glorious colour. Tell me, did you ever see a pumpkin more
beautiful?”
“You are beautiful, indeed, but I never thought of being made for
anything but pies. Do tell me of what other use can one be?”
“Well, I have always thought that I am not like the other pumpkins in
this field, and when Farmer Crane pointed me out as the finest one he
had, I heard him say, ‘That would be a fine one for a fair.’ It was
not till then that I really knew for what I was intended.”
“I do remember,” answered the other. “Yes, I do remember hearing
about some pumpkins’ being taken to a county fair once, but I never
heard how they liked it. As for myself, I should be proud to be made
into delicious pies and served on a beautiful plate.”
“How can you be satisfied with that thought? But there is Farmer
Crane now. He is gathering some of the _smaller_ pumpkins to make
pies with, I think.”
“Perhaps he knows best what you are made for,” answered the other.
Farmer Crane was soon at their side, and was looking from one to the
other.
“What fine pies they will make. I had better take them now, I think,”
he said, and they were quickly added to the golden heap already on
the wagon.
How happy they all were--all but one that lay on the top of the large
pile.
“It is hard to be thrown in with these ordinary pumpkins. If I could
only slip off by myself. Perhaps there is at least a place at the
bottom of the wagon where I can be alone.”
It was a long way from the top of the pile to the bed of the wagon,
but it was very little trouble to slip away from the rest. It would
take only a second, and then he could be away from the others. But
alas! the discontented pumpkin slipped a little too far, and I’m
sorry to say, soon lay on the frozen ground, a shattered heap.
“Dear me,” said the pumpkins in one breath; “see, that fine fellow
has slipped off, and is broken to pieces. What a feast the cows and
pigs will have.”
“It is too bad,” said one.
“And he was so anxious to be taken to a fair,” added another.
Hurrah for the tiny seed!
Hurrah for the flower and vine!
Hurrah for the golden pumpkin;
Yellow and plump and fine!
But better than all beginnings,
Sure, nobody can deny,
Is the end of the whole procession----
This glorious pumpkin pie!