It had become so dark that Katipah hardly knew what the kite had brought her till she touched the tiny warm limbs that lay cradled among the strings that netted the frame to its cord. Full of wonder and delight, she lifted the windling out of its nest, and laid it in her bosom. Then she slung her kite across her shoulder, and ran home, laughing and crying for joy and triumph to think that all Bimsha’s mockery must now be at an end. So, quite early the next morning, Katipah sat herself down very demurely in the doorway, with her child hidden in the folds of her gown, and waited for Bimsha’s evil eye to look out upon her happiness. She had not long to wait. Bimsha came out of her door, and looking across to Katipah, cried, “Well, Katipah, and where is your fine husband to-day?” “My husband is gone out,” said Katipah, “but if you care to look you can see my baby. It is ever so much more beautiful than yours.” Bimsha, when she heard that, turned green and yellow with envy; and there, plain to see, was Katipah holding up to view the most beautiful babe that ever gave the sunlight a good excuse for visiting this wicked earth. The mere sight of so much innocent beauty and happiness gave Bimsha a shock from which it took her three weeks to recover. After that she would sit at her window and for pure envy keep watch to see Katipah and the child playing together--the child which was so much more beautiful and well-behaved than her own. As for Katipah, she was so happy now that the sorrow of waiting for her husband’s return grew small. Day by day the west wind blew softly, and she knew that Gamma-gata was there, keeping watch over her and her child. Every day she would say to the little one, “Come, my plum-petal, my wind-flower, I will send thee up to thy father that he may see how fat thou art getting, and be proud of thee!” And going down to the shore, she would lay the child among the strings of her kite and send it up to where Gamma-gata blew a wide breath over sea and land. As it went she would hear the child crow with joy at being so uplifted from earth, and laughing to herself, she would think, “When he sees his child so patterned after his own heart, Gamma-gata will be too proud to remain long away from me.” When she drew the child back to her out of the sky, she covered it with caresses, crying, “Oh, my wind-blown one, my cloudlet, my sky-blossom, my little piece out of heaven, hast thou seen thy father, and has he told thee that he loves me?” And the child would crow with mysterious delight, being too young to tell anything it knew in words.