The Other Side of the Sun Part 15

The Prince suddenly began to remember things. "When shall I be as tall as the Lady Daffodilia?" he cried. But the daddy-longlegs had no time to do anything but chuckle before the waking-up dream came and seized hold of the Prince, and he found himself falling, falling, falling--down, down, down--until he dropped with a thud on a soft gra.s.s lawn, and found himself in the middle of the most beautiful garden in the world. A little way off stood an old grey castle; and as he lay looking at it the gate swung open, and out stepped a dainty, winsome little lady.

The Prince sprang to his feet with a shout and held out his arms; and the Lady Daffodilia ran straight into them without stopping so much as to think.

"How _did_ you learn to grow so tall?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Well," said the Prince, truthfully, "I just went into the world of dreams and waited till I was grown up. You see, I was a boy and not a girl, all the time; so I was not in such a hurry as you to get my growing done early."

"I tried to grow as clever as you," sighed Daffodilia, "but nothing would stop in my head. I couldn't even say the exports and imports of Fairyland without looking in the book first!"

"Never mind," laughed the Prince; "I don't believe there are any imports, for I am sure _we_ have nothing good enough to send there. And as for the exports, there is only one thing that Fairyland has sent into this country that is worth remembering."

"And what is that?" she asked anxiously.

"It is something that is not very tall and not very serious and not very wise," answered the Prince; "but it is sweet and merry and charming, and it is called the Lady Daffodilia!"

The Kite That Went to the Moon

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Jerry had made the biggest kite in the village; and Chubby, the woodcutter's daughter, had painted a big round moon on it and several stars as well. That alone was enough to show that it was by no means an ordinary kite; so it was no wonder that Jerry felt very proud of himself when he ran on to the village green to fly it.

"Stand back, all of you!" he said, as the girls and boys came crowding round him. "Now, you shall see my kite fly to the moon!"

No doubt, Jerry was inclined to make quite enough fuss about his kite; but it is not every day that one has a chance of flying the biggest kite in the village, especially when one is only seven years old. He felt very sad, however, when he found that his kite had no intention of flying to the moon. Every time he threw it into the air, back it fell again on the gra.s.s; and although he tried again and again, and used yards and yards of the very best string that twopence-halfpenny could buy, any one could see that something was decidedly wrong with the biggest kite in the village.

Jerry turned red, and blinked his eyes, and reminded himself desperately that he was seven years old. It was certainly hard to have spent six half-holidays in making a kite that would not fly in the end.

"Stupid thing!" he muttered crossly. "If I had the chance, just wouldn't I fly to the moon! Kites don't know when they are well off!"

But when all the boys and girls burst out laughing, and pointed their fingers at him and began to tease, it was impossible to keep back his tears any longer. After all, one cannot go on remembering for ever that one is seven years old. The children, however, only laughed the more, when the little maker of the kite suddenly flung himself down on the ground and began to cry.

"What is the use of a kite that won't fly?" they jeered. "Take it home, Jerry, and make it the same size as other people's kites! And mind you let us know what the moon is like, when your kite gets there!"

Jerry started to his feet again and shook his fist at them. "Some day,"

he shouted, "I shall be able to laugh at you instead."

"When will that be, Jerry?" cried all the boys and girls.

"When my kite has flown to the moon," answered Jerry, in a determined tone; and he picked up his kite there and then, and marched off to the school to find Chubby, the woodcutter's daughter.

"Hullo, Chubby!" he said, popping his head in at the schoolroom window.

"Haven't you done that sum yet?"

Chubby looked up with a doleful face. After painting a moon and several stars on the biggest kite in the village, it was not pleasant to be kept in school just because seven would not go into sixty-three.

"I shall never finish it, Jerry, never!" she said with a sigh.

"Chubby," said Jerry, solemnly, "you've been crying."

Chubby rubbed her eyes hastily with her two fists. "I don't think so,"

she replied in a m.u.f.fled tone; "it was just three tears that trickled down my nose and made a smudge on the slate; but that isn't crying. You know it isn't, Jerry!"

Jerry rubbed his own eyes a little guiltily. "My kite wouldn't fly," he remarked, and tried to look as though he did not care a bit.

"What!" cried Chubby. "Wouldn't your kite fly? Then I never need have cried at all."

Jerry clambered on the window ledge and sat there with his legs swinging to and fro. He wished Chubby would not talk so much about crying. "All the string got mixed up," he explained with dignity; "I expect that was it."

"I don't," said Chubby, decidedly; "it was because the tail was too short. I told you so, all the time."

No doubt there was something in what she said, but reasons are not much good when you are seven years old and your kite won't fly, and Jerry was not in a mood to be trifled with.

"If you know so much about it," he retorted, "you'd better come and fly it yourself."

"I only wish I could," sighed poor little Chubby. "If you'll tell me how many times seven goes into--"

"Oh, don't," interrupted Jerry, crossly. "How can I do sums when my kite won't fly?"

Then he flung himself down from the window ledge, and started off to find some one who would tell him why his kite would not fly. Half-way down the village street, he met a fine black raven.

"Good day to you," said Jerry, who knew that ravens could explain most things if they chose. "Can you tell me why my kite won't fly?"

"Caw, caw!" croaked the raven. "Nine times, Jerry, nine times! Caw, caw!"

"I wonder what he means," thought Jerry, and trudged on a little farther. Presently he met a sheep. Now, sheep do not know much as a rule, but they are always extremely anxious to tell what they do know.

So Jerry asked her at once why his kite would not fly.

"Baa, baa!" said the sheep. "Nine times, Jerry, nine times! Baa, baa!"

"Everybody is going mad this afternoon," thought Jerry; and he went on a little farther. Just at the end of the village, a c.o.c.kchafer came buzzing round his head.

"Buz-z-z!" hummed the c.o.c.kchafer. "Nine times, Jerry, nine times!

Buz-z-z!"

"Oh, go away, do!" cried Jerry, impatiently. "What do you all mean by nine times?"

The c.o.c.kchafer did not go away an inch, but buzzed closer to Jerry's head than before. "Buz-z-z," he hummed; "nine times, Jerry, nine times, nine times, nine times, nine times--"

All at once, the c.o.c.kchafer's meaning entered Jerry's head, which was hardly to be wondered at, considering how close his head was at that moment to the c.o.c.kchafer.

"Of course it's nine times!" he cried. "Why didn't I think of that before?" Then he turned round and dragged his kite all the way back to the school, where Chubby still sat sighing over her sum.

"It goes nine times exactly, Chubby," he told her through the window; "so now you can come and help me to carry this great big kite."