He said, “I shall have a fine kite story to tell my great-great-grand-children some day. That was a fine ride I had!”
Then he repeated in a singsong way:
“When I am lonesome I’m always singing
Of a jolly old kite that used to fly
At the end of the string I was often swinging,
And I said to old earth, ‘Good-bye, good-bye!’”
He made himself a nice little supper and for once was contented to sit in his wee house. But that night he dreamed that he was running away, singing:
“For a county fair I do not care,
I can run away from anywhere,
Wherever I go this thing I say,