"I will have it attended to," said he; and, calling the sexton, he ordered him to go into the steeple at once and take down the kite.
Easy to say, but impossible to do. The highest point the sexton could reach was more than forty feet below the top of the spire, and there he could only poke his head out at a little trap-door. The appearance of his head at this door was the signal for a derisive shout from a group of boys on the sidewalk.
By the time the services in the various churches were over, and the people on their way home, nearly everybody in town had heard of the phenomenon. They gathered in small groups, and gazed at it, and talked about it. These groups continually grew larger, and frequently two or three of them coalesced. They soon found that the best point to view it from—considering the position of the sun, and other circumstances—was the southwest corner of the square; and here they gradually gathered, till there was a vast throng, with upturned faces, gazing at the kite and its appendages, and wondering how it got there.
It was amusing to hear the wild conjectures and grave theories that were put forth.
One man thought it must have been an accident. "Probably some boy in a neighboring town," he said, "was flying the kite, when it broke away, and, as the string dragged along, it happened to catch somehow on that steeple."
Another said he had read that in China grown-up people flew kites, and were very expert at it. "Depend upon it," said he, solemnly, "you'll find there's a Chinaman in town."
Another presumed it was some new and ingenious method of advertising. "Probably at a certain hour," said he, "that thing will burst, and scatter over the town a shower of advertisements of a new baking-powder, warranted to raise your bread as high as a kite, or some other humbug."
Still another sagacious observer maintained that it might be merely an optical illusion,—a thing having no real existence. "It may be a mirage," said he; "or perhaps some practical joker has made a sort of magic-lantern that projects such an image in mid-air."
Patsy Rafferty happened to see a lady sitting at her window, and looking at the kite through an opera-glass. Immediately he was struck with an idea, and ran off home at his best speed. His mother was out visiting a neighbor; but he didn't need to call her home; he knew where she kept his money.
Going straight to the pantry, he climbed on a chair and took down what in its day had been an elegant china teapot, but was now useless, because the spout was broken off. Thrusting in his hand, he drew out the money which the Clown had collected for him from the crowd on the tow-path,—every cent of it, except the crossed shilling, the bogus quarter, the brass buttons, and the temperance medal.