That was a large pumpkin. It had grown by itself in a corner of the corn field, where it had plenty of room, and, as Clint Burgess remarked when they were rolling it in behind the corn-crib, "it had just sat still and swelled."
Prop Corning was the best hand any of them knew of with a jackknife, and he knew all about jack-o'-lanterns; but they all had learned more by the time they had worked up four of the smaller pumpkins.
"They look more like big apples alongside that other."
"That's the King Pumpkin."
"That's it," shouted Prop. "We'll make the King Jack-o'-lantern. I'll show you! Phil, you run to the house for a big iron spoon."
"To scoop with? I know. The rind'll be awful thick."
So they found it; and the outer shell was so hard that Phil went to the tool-room after one of his father's small key saws and a gimlet.
"Now we won't break our knives, nor the shell either."
"Nor cut our fingers. But we must keep every piece of shell we cut out," said Prop. "I've got a big idea in my head."
"Big as that pumpkin?"