The day was grey and windy, just the sort of day for flying a kite. This kite was of the old-fashioned sort, with a tail of his own making, and as it soared away higher and higher, with the tail wriggling its great length like a happy eel on a holiday, his heart was full of pride and content.
He kept on unwinding and unwinding the large ball of string until he began to wonder if his kite would still be in view by the time he had unwound it all. The wind was increasing in strength, when, to his astonishment, and apparently for no reason at all, the pull on his arm suddenly relaxed, and the kite all at once dropped quickly to earth, tail first. Cedric darted forward to where it lay, some distance ahead. When he reached it, he flung himself alongside to examine it carefully. He could find no rent, no damage; nothing was wrong. There was nothing, apparently, to account for such peculiar behaviour in his hitherto well-conducted kite.
As he passed his hand over it where it lay, he felt underneath it, entangled in the tail, something hard. He could see it glistening through. He quickly drew it forth, and found in his hand—a golden key.
"Halloa! what's this?" exclaimed Cedric, as he knelt down and turned his discovery over and over. "A yellow key. However did it get there?" was his next thought. He continued to ask himself the riddle, but finding no answer he gave it up, and carefully examined the key. There was no mark on it—it wouldn't even whistle when he tried it. "Some one must have lost it, I suppose," he went on, and concluded: "Well, it's no use to me!" and he threw it away. Seating himself on the grass, he soon became absorbed in getting his kite all trim again, and had temporarily secured the string to a bush, when his attention was attracted by the key, which lay and glistened as if it knew it was glistening.
Cedric didn't care to trouble with it, but instinctively he picked it up, and said—
"I wonder where this key belongs to?"
At that moment his view of the Land's End became slowly obscured by a huge iron door, the lock of which was outlined with gold. He tried the key he held. It fitted! A turn, the heavy door was unlocked, and he put the key in his pocket. He turned the handle, pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through, and it swung to behind him.
There had been a great commotion in Fairyland. The gnomes—who formed the Opposition Party—had turned disloyal and wanted a republic; whereupon the King, hurt in his dignity, insisted upon abdicating. In fact, he was tired of power, and glad of the excuse to resign. In spite of the prayers and entreaties of those who desired him to remain in office he returned to the Treasury the Golden Key, together with the crown and other royal jewels, and, to the concern of every one who wasn't a gnome, went forth to play skittles—his sole interest and only hobby.
Of all the regalia, the most precious object was the Golden Key, for whoever held it was made King of Fairyland by virtue of its possession; and it was ordained that it could only be parted with at the monarch's free will. It could be surrendered; it could not be withdrawn.