Neighbor Newman's boy saw Bobby's kite and went into his house to make one. Boys in the village saw it and began to make kites.

When it had been flying for some time, the wind began to blow harder, and the kite tugged and tugged on the string.

Suddenly, there was a strong gust of wind.

Snap went the string.

Away went the kite.

Bobby ran after it, to catch it when it fell. But it soon blew out of sight over the patch of woods. Then he sadly wound up the string that was left and went slowly to the house.

"My kite flew away," said he to Mother. "And it was the best one I ever had."

Meanwhile, the kite went sailing along.

"It's my kite," said the West Wind. And he tried to blow it toward the Little Red Schoolhouse.

"No, it's my kite," said the North Wind. And he tried to blow it toward the clouds.

In spite of them both, the kite began to fall. Zigzag it went, first one way, then another, across the road where the Little Red Schoolhouse stood, to an open field on the other side.

Mr. Hill was just coming home from the city on that road. As he was driving along, he saw the kite falling.

"Whoa, Prince," he said to the horse.

Prince stopped. Mr. Hill got out of the buggy and climbed over the fence. "Perhaps I can catch it," he thought. Just before he got to it, the kite came to the ground. Mr. Hill picked it up.

"What a fine kite!" he said. "I wonder what boy lost it. I'll inquire at the houses as I go along."

He wound up the string, gathered up all the tail and went back to the buggy. He started to put it under the seat; but as he did so, his eye fell on something written on the cross-stick. It was the name Mrs. Hill had written there—Bobby Hill.

"Well, well!" said he. "So it's Bobby's kite, is it?"

He put it under the seat, got into the buggy and drove toward home.

Father meant to give the kite to Bobby as soon as he reached home, but when he drove into the yard, there was a man waiting to see him on business; so he forgot all about it.

Bobby's big brother John unhitched Prince, put him into the stable and pushed the buggy into the carriage-house.

So there was Bobby's fine kite lying under the buggy seat, all unknown.

The next day, Grandfather helped Bobby make another kite. But perhaps it was not made of the right kind of wood, or the cross-piece was not at just the right place. Anyhow, it had not gone up far when it dived to the ground and was broken.

That evening Bobby told Father all about his kites. Then Father remembered something; but he said nothing about it just then.

The next morning, he called Bobby to him. "I have a present for you," he said. "Come to the carriage-house and you may see it."

"What is it like?" asked Bobby, as they walked along.

"It is something that flies," said Father.

"A bird," said Bobby.

"Wrong," said Father.

"A ball?" guessed Bobby.

"No. One more guess," said Father.

"I don't know anything else that flies," said Bobby, "except a butterfly."

"How about a bumblebee?" asked Father.

"Oh, Father, you couldn't catch a bumblebee," said Bobby. "And if you did, it would sting you."

"How about a kite?" asked Father.

"That would be grand," said Bobby. "Did you get one in the city?"

"Look under the buggy seat," said Father.

Bobby climbed into the buggy and reached under the seat and began to pull something out.

"Why, it looks just like the tail to my kite," said he.

"Why, it is my kite," he shouted, as he saw his name on the cross-piece. "Where did you get it?"

Father