w 'em the way."

It was hard work, I thought, to go down into the garden, night and
morning, with my little pail full of water, but uncle said that I should
get my pay when the melon was ripe. I had also to keep the wood-box full
and feed the chickens. They were odious tasks. When I asked Aunt Deel
what I should get for doing them she answered quickly:

"Nospanks and bread and butter--ayes!"

When I asked what were "nospanks" she told me that they were part of the
wages of a good child. I was better paid for my care of the watermelon
vine, for its growth was measured with a string every day and kept me
interested. One morning I found five blossoms on it. I picked one and
carried it to Aunt Deel. Another I destroyed in the tragedy of catching
a bumblebee which had crawled into its cup. In due time three small
melons appeared. When they were as big as a baseball I picked two of
them. One I tasted and threw away as I ran to the pump for relief. The
other I hurled at a dog on my way to school.

So that last melon on the vine had my undivided affection. It grew in
size and reputation, and soon I learned that a reputation is about the
worst thing that a watermelon can acquire while it is on the vine. I
invited everybody that came to the house to go and see my watermelon.
They looked it over and said pleasant things about it. When I was a boy
people used to treat children and watermelons with a like solicitude.
Both were a subject for jests and both produced similar reactions in the
human countenance.

Aunt Deel often applied the watermelon test to my forehead and
discovered in me a capacity for noise which no melon could rival. That
act became very familiar to me, for when my melon was nearing the summit
of its fame and influence, all beholders thumped its rounded side with
the middle finger of the right hand, and said that they guessed they'd
steal it. I knew that this was some kind of a joke and a very idle one
for they had also threatened to steal me and nothing had come of it.

At last Uncle Peabody agreed with me that it was about time to pick the
melon. I decided to pick it immediately after meeting on Sunday, so that
I could give it to my aunt and uncle at dinner-time. When we got home I
ran for the garden. My feet and those of our friends and neighbors had
literally worn a path to the melon. In eager haste I got my little
wheelbarrow and ran with it to the end of that path. There I found
nothing but broken vines