II
The time of year had come when boys were flying kites. But around Cloverfield Farm no one had started yet.
Perhaps the little white clouds, floating in the sky, beckoned to Bobby, "Send a kite up to us, little earth boy."
Perhaps the wind, blowing in the tree tops, whispered, "Bring a kite and try me. Just see how far I will take it up for you."
Anyway, Bobby suddenly stopped playing and looked up into the sky. Then he ran into the house.
"I want to fly a kite," said he.
"I will help you make one," said Grandfather, who was visiting there.