“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!
BOB WHITE
I see you on the zig zag rails, You cheery little fellow! While purple leaves are whirling down, And scarlet, brown or yellow. I hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, “Bob White! Bob White!” you whistle.