Brave and True | Page 3

the scythes had left their marks; the butterflies fled in their butterfly fashion.
So did a party of newly-fledged sparrowkins, and, still playing the pony, Ned kept on, drawing his sister's attention to the various objects, as he made for the long row of Lombardy poplars which grew so tall and straight close to the deep river-side, and gave the name "Lombardy" to the charming little home.
But it was all in vain; nothing would pacify the sobbing child, not even the long red-and-yellow monkey barge gliding along the river, steered by a woman in a print hood, and drawn by a drowsy-looking grey horse at the end of a long tow-rope, bearing a whistling boy seated sidewise on his back and a dishcover-like pail hanging from his collar.
"Oh, I say, don't cry, Tizzy," protested Ned, at last, as he felt the hot tears trickling inside his white collar.
"I can't help it, Teddy," she sobbed. "I did so want to see the kite fly!"
"Never mind, pussy," said her brother; "I'll get the butterfly-net."
"No, no," she sobbed; "please don't."
"The rod and line, then, and you shall fish. I'll put on the worms."
"No, no, I don't want to," she said, with more tears. "Put me down, please; you do joggle me so. You'll be going back to school soon, and, now the grass is cut, I did so wa-wa-want to see the kite fly!"
"So did I," said the boy ruefully. "But don't cry, Tiz dear. Tell me what to do. It makes me so miserable to see you cry."
"Does it, Teddy?" she said, looking up wistfully in her brother's face, and then kissing him. "There, then: I won't cry any more."
She had hardly spoken when the sunshine returned to her pretty little face, for, though she did not know it, that sorrowful countenance had quite softened Cook's heart, and she stood in the kitchen doorway, calling the young people and waving a steaming white basin, which she set down on the window-sill with a bang.
"Here's your paste, Master Ned," she shouted; and then, muttering to herself something about being such a "soft," she disappeared.
Five minutes later the young folk were in the play-room and Ned was covering the framework of his simply-made kite with white paper, Tizzy helping and getting her little fingers pasty the while. Then a loop was made on the centre lath; the wet kite was found to balance well; wings were made, and a long string with a marble tied in the thumb of a glove attached to the end for a tail; the ball of new string taken off the top of the drawers, and the happy couple went off in high glee to fly the kite.
"It's half-dry already," said Ned. "Paste soon dries in hot weather."
"Do let me carry the string, Teddy," cried Tiz; and the next minute she was stepping along with it proudly, while Ned, with his arm through the loop and the kite on his back, looked something like a Knight Crusader with a white shield.
The grasshoppers and butterflies scattered; the paper dried rapidly in the hot sun, as the kite lay on the grass while the string was fastened, Tizzy having the delightful task of rolling the ball along the grass to unwind enough for the first flight; and then, after Ned had thrown a stray goose-feather to make sure which way the wind blew, this being towards the tall poplars, Tizzy was set to hold up the kite as high as she could.
"Mind and don't tread on its tail, Tiz," shouted Ned, as he ran off to where the ball of spring lay on the grass.
"No; it's stretched right out," she cried.
"Ready?" shouted Ned.
"Yes."
"Higher then. Now, off!"
The string tightened as the boy ran off facing the wind, and, as if glad to be released, the kite seemed to pluck itself out of its holder's hands and darted aloft, the little girl clapping her hands with glee. For it was a good kite, Ned being a clever maker, of two summers' experience. Away it went, higher and higher, till there was no need for the holder to run, and consequently he began to walk back towards Tizzy, unwinding more and more string till there was but little left, when the string was placed in Tizzy's hands, and, breathless and flushed with excitement, she held on, watching the soaring framework of paper, with its wings fluttering and its tail invisible all but the round knob at the end, sailing about in the air.
But alas! how short-lived are some of our pleasures! That fine twine was badly made, or one part was damaged, for, just when poor Tizzy's little arm was being jerked by the kite in its efforts to escape and fly higher, the string parted about half-way, and the kite learned that, like many