John White flew his kite one very windy day,
But a gale broke the tail, and it soon flew away.
And while he sat crying and sighing and sad,
Charlie Gray came that way, a good-natured lad.
“Don’t cry, wipe your eye, poor little Jack;
Stay here, never fear; I’ll soon bring it back.”
Up the tree went he, and took the kite down.
“Many thanks, many thanks,” said dear little John.
DAPPLE GRAY