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A HALLOWEEN STORY
Elizabeth Thompson DiUingham
Once upon a time a big orange pumpkin was grow-
ing just outside a stone wall, far off in a field, all alone.
The farmer had gathered all his pumpkins and stored
them carefully in his great barn. But no one knew of
the big orange pumpkin growing just outside the wall,
all alone. The big orange pumpkin was lonely.
“I wish I belonged to some one,” said he.
“Miew, miew! I do, too,” cried a little black
pussy cat, stretching herself and jumping down from
the stone wall where she had been sleeping.
“It will soon be winter,” said the big orange
pumpkin; “let’s go find some one to belong to.”
“Yes, let’s do,” said the little black cat, eagerly.
“I want to belong to a little girl with a sweet face
and shining eyes.”
“And I,” said the big orange pumpkin,” want to
belong to a jolly little boy who whistles and sings
when he works. Let’s hurry right away to find
them.”
“Yes, let’s do,” said the little black cat.
So off they started — the big orange pumpkin roll-
ing and tumbling along, and chuckling to himself
as he went, and the little black cat pitpatting along
on her soft little cushions, purring because she was
happy.
On and on they went, over the fields and through
the woods. It began to grow cold, oh, so cold,
and dark, too. The little black cat shivered as the
wind whistled through the trees.
“See here,” said the big orange pumpkin, “you
can’t sleep outdoors to-night. What shall we do?”
Just then they saw a man coming along the path
with a bundle of wood
on his back.
“Ho, Mr. Woodcutter!” cried the pumpkin,
“have you a knife?”
“That I have,” said the merry woodsman.
“What can I do for you, my fine fellow?”
“Just cut off a piece of my shell where the stem
is, and scoop out some of my seeds, if you please,”
said the pumpkin.
No sooner said than done.
“There, my little black pussy cat,” said the pump-
kin, ‘Vhen you wish to sleep to-night, you may curl
inside and be as warm as a sunbeam.”
“But will you not come home with me?” asked
the woodsman.
“Have you a little girl with a sweet face and shin-
ing eyes?” asked the little black pussy cat.
“Have you a jolly little boy who whistles and
sings when he works?” asked the big orange pumpkin.
“No, ah, no,” said the woodsman, “but I have
a pig and some hens.”
“Then we’ll go on,” said the pumpkin, “but thank
you kindly.”
So on they went, and on, until the stars began
to shine. Then the tired little pussy cat curled in
her hollow nest, put on the cover, and went to sleep.
In the morning they went on again, but before
long it began to rain. The pussy cat’s soft fur was
soon very wet.
“You poor little thing” said the big orange pump-
kin; “curl inside your house and I will trundle you
along.”
“But it’s so dark inside, and I couldn’t see where
we were going,” cried the pussy cat, holding up a
tiny, dripping paw.
“Windows!” cried the pumpkin. “Of course,
windows! How stupid of me! Wait here under this
fence, my little friend, until I come back.”
Then off he hurried across the road to a car-
penter’s shop.
“Ho, Mr. Carpenter!” cried the pumpkin, “have
you a knife?”
“That I have,” said the jolly carpenter. “What
can I do for you, my fine fellow?”
“Just cut some windows for me, if you please.”
So the carpenter took a sharp knife and cut four
windows — just like a face he made them, two for
eyes, one for a nose, and one for a mouth, and he
laughed as he did it.
When he finished the mouth, the pumpkin laughed
too.
“Ha, ha, ha!” cried he. “What a relief to have a
mouth to laugh with! Ha, ha, ha!” And he laughed
all the way back in the rain to where the little
shivering pussy cat was waiting.
And she laughed, too, and climbed inside her
coach, and put on the cover. So on through the
rain they went, and on and on. Just as dark was
drawing near, they came to a wee, brown house by
the side of the road. In the yard was a little boy
picking up chips and putting them into a big basket.
He whistled as he worked, and then he began to
sing:
“If wishes were horses, then beggars might ride;
If turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side.”
Then the door opened, and a little girl with a
sweet face and shining eyes stood on the threshold.
“What do you wish, John?” she called.
“Oh,” laughed the boy, as he came in with the
chips. “I wish I had a pumpkin for a jack-o’-
lantern, for this is Hallowe’en.”
“And I wish I had a pussy cat to love,” said the
little girl.
“This is the place for us!” whispered the big
orange pumpkin; and he rolled up to the door,
bumpity bump!
“Look, John!” cried the little girl, “Here’s your
jack-o’-lantern! The fairies must have sent it. Isn’t
it a beauty?”
“There’s something inside,” said John, snatching
off the cover, and out jumped a tiny black pussy
cat, straight into the little girl’s arms.
“Oh, oh!” they cried.
And when mother came home in the dark, a jolly
jack-o’-lantern with a candle inside was shining out
of the window at her, and close beside it sat a little
black pussy cat.
