Fennewick
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Fennewick - Section 03
Part K
But the triumph of the corn-field is not yet. The transformation of its products into Indian puddings and pumpkin pies will not occur until the golden Autumn days, when the sun, and the corn, and the pumpkins are all yellow alike, and gold--if it was not so scarce--would be nothing to compare to any of them. Then come the men, with their corn-cutters--pieces of scythe-blades, with handles fitted to them--and down go the corn-stalks. Only one crack apiece, and sometimes a big cut will slice off the stalks on a whole hill.
In the Gardens of the Palais Royal, in Paris, there is a little cannon which stands on a pedestal, and is surrounded by a railing. Every day it is loaded with powder and wadding, but no one on earth is allowed to fire it off. However, far away in the realms of space, ninety-three millions of miles from our world, there is the great and glorious Sun, and every day, at twelve o'clock, he fires off that little cannon, provided there are no clouds in the way. Just before noon on bright days, the people gather around the railing, with their watches in their hands,--if they are so lucky as to have watches,--and precisely at twelve o'clock, _bang!_ she goes.
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