and he
said,

"'Hollo! Here's that little fool pumpkin. Wonder if it thinks it's a
morning-glory yet?'

"And the boy said, 'Oh, father, mayn't I have it?'

"And the father said, 'Guess so. What are you going to do with it?'

"But the boy didn't tell, because he was going to keep it for a
surprise; but as soon as his father went out of the barn, he picked up
the bad little pumpkin by its long neck, and he kind of balanced it
before him, and he said, 'Well, now, I'm going to make a pumpkin-glory
out of _you_!'

[Illustration: "'HERE'S THAT LITTLE FOOL PUMPKIN,' SAID THE FARMER."]

"And when the bad little pumpkin heard that, all its seeds fairly
rattled in it for joy. The boy took out his knife, and the first thing
the pumpkin knew he was cutting a kind of lid off the top of it; it was
like getting scalped, but the pumpkin didn't mind it, because it was
just the same as war. And when the boy got the top off he poured the
seeds out, and began to scrape the inside as thin as he could without
breaking through. It hurt awfully, and nothing but the hope of being a
pumpkin-glory could have kept the little pumpkin quiet; but it didn't
say a word, even after the boy had made a mouth for it, with two rows of
splendid teeth, and it didn't cry with either of the eyes he made for
it; just winked at him with one of them, and twisted its mouth to one
side, so as to let him know it was in the joke; and the first thing it
did when it got one was to turn up its nose at the good little pumpkin,
which the boy's mother came into the barn to get."

"Show how it looked," said the boy.

And the papa twisted his mouth, and winked with one eye, and wrinkled
his nose till the little girl begged him to stop. Then he went on:

"The boy hid the bad pumpkin behind him till his mother was gone,
because he didn't want her in the secret; and then he slipped into the
house, and put it under his bed. It was pretty lonesome up there in the
boy's room--he slept in the garret, and there was nothing but broken
furniture besides his bed; but all day long it could smell the good
little pumpkin, boiling and boiling for pies; and late at night, after
the boy had gone to sleep, it could smell the hot pies when they came
out of the oven. They smelt splendid, but the bad little pumpkin didn't
envy them a bit; it just said, 'Pooh! What's twenty pumpkin pies to one
pumpkin-glory?'"

"It ought to have said 'what _are_,' oughtn't it, papa?" asked the
little