"Will you make us a kite, Grandpa?" asked Don after dinner.
"Yes, do!" cried Joyce. "It will be such fun to fly it."
"Well," said Grandpa, "you children hunt around and find some sticks. Then ask Grandma for some paper and paste and string; and bring them out to the woodshed, and I'll try my hand at making a kite."
After it was made, they had to let it lie in the sun for a while, to dry. Then they took it out to the pasture. There was a soft breeze blowing, and Grandpa said the kite ought to fly. Don took the string and ran along with it for quite a distance. The wind lifted it a little; but after it had darted back and forth, it fell on the ground. This happened several times, and at last Grandpa said, "It's too bad, children, but my kite won't fly. But I'll see if I can make something else for you."
Then Grandpa took some thin boards and whittled out darts. He took a short stick, and tied a string to it; and then he fitted the string in a notch which he had cut in one end of the dart. He threw the dart up in the air, ever so high. It came down just a few yards from Don. The sharp end stuck fast; and there it stood, upright in the ground.
Don was as much pleased with this as he would have been with a kite that would fly. Soon he and Joyce were shooting darts into the air, to see whose would go the highest.
They had so much fun that the afternoon flew by very fast. It was nearly suppertime when Don gathered up the darts and took them to the house with him. He carefully put them away in the little trunk, saying, "I'll show the boys how to throw darts when I get home."
That evening, as they sat on the porch in the quiet twilight, they heard the faint tinkle of a cowbell in the distance. They talked a while, and then they sang some songs together.
"It's story time, isn't it?" said Grandpa by and by. "And who is going to get stung tonight?" he asked, winking at Joyce.
"I hope I don't," she laughed, remembering the time the bee had stung her on the first day of her visit.