"Very strange!" Lady Trumpet remarked. "Almost impressive. But I'm glad I don't have to do it. My seed pods are elegance itself, and yet they do not obtrude themselves that way. I call it vulgar."
But others thought differently. People began to go that way just to see the house that was covered with gourds, and in the last days, as the sap was drying in the vines, Sunny Gourd found that he was attracting much attention.
Yet he was not to guess just the thing that was to happen.
One day the man who had thrown the seeds for luck, returned. And he took but one delighted look.
Soon there was much going on and the old cabin came back to life again. And, just as the chimney hoped, it was smoking once more. There were children running around the weedy garden, and voices and laughter brought back the happiness so long gone. The blue-jays and the yellowhammers greeted the newcomers with delight, and Lady Trumpet could only wish that they had seen her in her July glory. But to Sunny Gourd happened the best of it all; for the man cut many of the gourds into bird houses and hung them to a pole which he planted by the door.
Then came the martins to build, losing no time at all. The beautiful yellow gourds hung high and happy, their hollow shells sheltering a dozen beautiful birds. And the best of the gourds, the one with the longest handle, which had swung clear of the door lintel all summer long, and had ripened to a magnificent color, was hung by the well. It made a dipper fit for a king; that is, if the king were a very good man.
Sunny Gourd knew no words for his happiness. And it was joy, not the cold of the winter nights, to which he at last succumbed.
"That's the way with this wonderful world," said Mr. Mocking-bird. "And I thought he was beautiful all along."
"And think what he did for me," the cabin kept saying.
So that even the proud Lady Trumpet knew her place at last, and she honestly hoped the dear Sunny Gourd would come back in the spring.