es."

Clint and Phil both admitted that Prop was right about that, but they
ventured to suggest, "He won't be a King worth a cent if we don't give
him some kind of a crown."

"Crown? You wait and see. His teeth won't be anything to the crown we'll
put on him. But I mustn't lose a square inch of the rind. He must have
ears too--a half-moon on each side--and you can let any amount of blaze
shine out there."

It was a long job of sculptor work; but when it was done the three boys
could hardly take their eyes away from it. Not until Prop had carefully
fitted back to their places all the pieces of rind he had sawed out.

There was nothing to be done after that but for Prop and Clint to go
home and attend to their "chores," and for Phil to go after his cows;
but the Sewing Society had an experience before it that evening.

It was just as Phil Merritt said it would be about their coming
together, and his mother had never before seen him so cheerful and
willing about doing all he could, and about not going in to tea with the
rest. His father noticed it too, and he whispered to him, once, "Phil,
did you take the pumpkin?"

"Don't let 'em know a word about it, father," said Phil, anxiously.
"You'll see, by-and-by."

"All right, Phil. I'll wait."

He had to wait until about nine o'clock, and some of the ladies were
almost ready to go home, when suddenly there was a great noise out by
the front gate.

"What's that?"

"Dear me!"

"Something's happened!"

Whoever made that sound must have been dreadfully unhappy about
something; they all felt sure of that--and there was a grand rush to the
front door and the windows.

"Sakes alive!"

"What can it be?"

"Mrs. Merritt, there's somethin' awful a-stickin' on the top of one o'
your gate posts."

So there was, indeed. Something very large and round, and that looked
very dark in spite of strange, mysterious rays of light that crept out
of it here and there.

The whole gate post looked like a wooden man without any arms, but with
more head than would have answered for half a dozen such men.

Nobody in the house heard Prop Corning whisper at that moment across the
front-door walk, "Keep down, Clint, keep under the bushes. We're all
ready. Pull out his chin." And then he added, in a lower whisper,
"Ain't I glad I brought along my kite-string?--we've used it 'most all
up, but we can show 'em that King."

One of the ladies, a second later, gave a little scream, and exc