"Do you mean to say you know where the kite has gone?" asked both the children, breathlessly.
"Look up there and see," answered the wymp, pointing to the sky.
The sky was covered with stars, hundreds and thousands of them, all twinkling round the moon just as Chubby had painted them on the kite. Only, she could not help thinking that her stars had more shape and were decidedly more like stars than the real stars were; but this, she supposed, might be because the real stars were such a long way off. One of them was different from all the others; it had a long bright tail that glittered like a cracker at Christmas time, and it was scurrying across the sky at such a pace that the rest of the stars had to get out of its way as best they could. Most of the people who looked out of their windows that night thought they saw a comet; but Jerry and Chubby knew better.
"Oh," they cried, clapping their hands with excitement. "There is our kite, and it is flying to the moon after all!"
"There's no doubt about that," said the wymp, who was still wimpling at them from the top of the thistle.
"But why did it not fly to the moon this afternoon, when all the other boys were looking on?" asked Jerry, regretfully.
"Because there wasn't a moon to fly to, of course!" answered the wymp. "You shouldn't expect too much, even from the biggest kite in the village. Directly there was a moon, you see, away it flew."
"Then, if I had painted the sun on it, instead of the moon, it would have flown away this afternoon!" exclaimed Chubby.
"Exactly so," said the wymp. "Now, what ever induced you to paint a thing like the moon on anybody's kite, eh?"