in which Mother Rigby cut two holes for
the eyes and a slit for the mouth, leaving a bluish-colored knob in the
middle to pass for a nose. It was really quite a respectable face.

"I've seen worse ones on human shoulders, at any rate," said Mother
Rigby. "And many a fine gentleman has a pumpkin head, as well as my
scarecrow."

But the clothes in this case were to be the making of the man; so the
good old woman took down from a peg an ancient plum-colored coat of
London make and with relics of embroidery on its seams, cuffs,
pocket-flaps, and buttonholes, but lamentably worn and faded, patched
at the elbows, tattered at the skirts, and threadbare all over. On the
left breast was a round hole whence either a star of nobility had been
rent away or else the hot heart of some former wearer had scorched it
through and through. The neighbors said that this rich garment belonged
to the Black Man's wardrobe, and that he kept it at Mother Rigby's
cottage for the convenience of slipping it on whenever he wished to
make a grand appearance at the governor's table. To match the coat
there was a velvet waist-coat of very ample size, and formerly
embroidered with foliage that had been as brightly golden as the
maple-leaves in October, but which had now quite vanished out of the
substance of the velvet. Next came a pair of scarlet breeches once worn
by the French governor of Louisbourg, and the knees of which had
touched the lower step of the throne of Louis le Grand.[176-1] The
Frenchman had given these small-clothes to an Indian pow-wow, who
parted with them to the old witch for a gill of strong waters at one of
their dances in the forest. Furthermore, Mother Rigby produced a pair
of silk stockings and put them on the figure's legs, where they showed
as unsubstantial as a dream, with the wooden reality of the two sticks
making itself miserably apparent through the holes. Lastly, she put her
dead husband's wig on the bare scalp of the pumpkin, and surmounted the
whole with a dusty three-cornered hat, in which was stuck the longest
tail-feather of a rooster.

Then the old dame stood the figure up in a corner of her cottage and
chuckled to behold its yellow semblance of a visage, with its nobby
little nose thrust into the air. It had a strangely self-satisfied
aspect, and seemed to say, "Come, look at me!"

"And you are well worth looking at, that's a fact!" quoth Mother Rigby,
in admiration at her own handiwork. "I've made many a pu