She stood above the pumpkin and contemplated its promising roundness. This would do for three meals, she thought, with perhaps a little left over to make some soup afterwards. It was exactly ready—with just that degree of ripeness which gives the flesh some sweetness without making it too soft. This was a fine pumpkin, and the person who had left it there must have been a good judge of pumpkins.

Mma Ramotswe bent forward and began to lift the pumpkin, gingerly at first but then more firmly. With the large yellow burden up against her chest, she smelled the sweet pumpkin smell, and she closed her eyes for a moment, imagining how it would be once it was cut up, cooked and gracing the plates on her table. Grasping the pumpkin, which was heavy, she made her way back to the kitchen and deposited it on the table.

“That is a very fine pumpkin,” observed Mr J.L.B. Matekoni as he entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

Mma Ramotswe was about to tell him what had happened when she noticed that the children were directly behind him—Motholeli in her wheelchair and Puso neatly dressed in freshly ironed khaki shorts (Rose’s ironing) and a short-sleeved white shirt.

“A pumpkin!” shouted Puso. “A very big pumpkin!”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni raised an eyebrow. “You have been to the shops already, Mma Ramotswe?”

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Somebody left this pumpkin for us. I found it out at the front. It is a very fine present.” That, at least, was true. Somebody had left the pumpkin outside the house, and it was quite reasonable to assume that it was a present.

“Who was the kind person?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “Mrs Moffat said that she would give me a present for fixing the doctor’s car. Do you think that she has left us a pumpkin?”

“It may be her,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But I am not sure.” She looked at Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, trying to signal to him that there was more to this pumpkin than met the eye, but that it was not something that should be discussed in front of the children. He caught her eye, and realised.

“Well, I shall put that pumpkin away in the cupboard,” he said, “then we shall be able to take it out later today and cook it. Do you not think that a good idea?”

“I do,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You put the pumpkin away and I can make some porridge for the children’s breakfast. Then we can all go to church before it gets too hot.”

THEY DROVE the short distance to the Anglican Cathedral, parking Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s van round the side, near the Dean’s house. Mma Ramotswe helped Motholeli into her wheelchair and Puso pushed it round to the front, where a ramp allowed for entrance. Mma Ramotswe and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni made their way in through the side door, collected their hymn books from the table near the door, and walked to their favourite pew. A few minutes later the children arrived. Motholeli’s wheelchair was parked at the end of the pew, and Puso sat between Mma Ramotswe and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, where he could be watched. He had a tendency to fidget, and would usually be sent out, after fifteen minutes or so, to play on the Cathedral swing.