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.