If you have ever twisted a piece of common string up tight, and then, taking the two ends between your thumb and finger, let go of the middle, you know what it does. It doubles and twists itself together, in the vain effort to untwist.
When Phaeton had tightened the twist of his string as much as he could, he tied the arrow on again, laid it across his bow, pointed it toward the zenith, drew it to the head, and once more discharged it.
While the arrow was climbing, the string—wherever the slack folds of it hung near enough to one another—was doubling and twisting together, thus greatly shortening itself. The arrow had not gone much more than half its former distance above the kite-string when it arrived at the end of its own now shortened string, and gave such a jerk as pulled the hoop clear up from the end of the lightning-rod.
When the crowd saw this, they burst into a tremendous cheer, threw their caps into the air, and bestowed all sorts of compliments upon Phaeton.
Phaeton took off his hat and made a low bow to the people, and then disappeared through the little door in the tower, by which he had gained access to the roof. He soon reappeared, emerging from the front door, and then ran across the square, to the house where Ned still stood on the roof, like a statue, or Casabianca, waiting for his next orders.
"Haul her in," said Phaeton, and Ned immediately began winding in the kite, using his left forearm as a reel, and passing the string around his elbow and through the notch between his thumb and forefinger. He wound on everything as he came to it—hoop, mottoes, even Phaeton's arrow.
Phaeton stood in the street before the house, caught the kite by the tail as it approached the ground, and soon had it secure. He broke off the string, and Ned came down through the house.
An immense crowd surrounded them, and impeded their progress as they started for home.
"Jump into my carriage; I'll take you home," said the driver of an open barouche, who had stopped to see the performance, and like everybody else was intensely interested in it.
Phaeton was instantly seized in the arms of three or four men and lifted into the carriage. Then Ned was lifted in the same way and seated beside him. Then the kite was stood up on the front seat, leaning against the driver's back, with its astonishing motto staring the boys in the face. Lukey Finnerty, who had been proudly holding Ned's musket for him, handed it up, and it was placed aslant of the seat between the two boys. The bow, brought by the sexton, was placed beside it, and the carriage then moved off, while a large number of boys followed in its wake, three of them being suspended from the hind axle by their hands, while their feet were drawn up to clear the ground.