“The brooms are heavy for us to hold, And after all we are not very old!” Then the Ink-Bottle Papa clapped his hands and said, “Shall we mow our lawn, front and back?” Then the Ink-Bottle Babies cried, “We are very little to mow to-day; Let us help keep your holiday!” Then the Ink-Bottle Papa stopped fooling, and he said, “There is a fine wind for flying kites; we will all make kites to-day; then we will go out and fly them.” “Hurrah! Hurrah!” cried the Babies. “We will all make kites. We will make big kites, little kites, and middle-sized kites!” Now, did the Ink-Bottle Babies make kites? Well, I guess they did! [Illustration: “_Oh, oh, oh, my kite pulls so hard!_”] They cut and they pasted, and they rapped and tapped away, and then they said, “Our kites are finished. May we go and fly them, Pa?” Then the Ink-Bottle Papa said, “One, two, three, away we go; March like soldiers in a row!” Then the Ink-Bottle Babies got into two rows and they followed the Ink-Bottle Papa over to the meadow. Then they began to run and fly their kites. “Oh, oh, oh,” cried Polly, “my kite pulls so hard!” “Oh, oh, oh,” cried Molly, “I am afraid my kite will get away.” The Ink-Bottle Papa said, “It is the merry March wind pulling at the kites!” Then they laughed and danced and played in the sunshine, and by and by Papa said, “Come, sit down and rest and I will tell you a story.” The Ink-Bottle Babies all sat down. They still held on to the strings of their kites. The Ink-Bottle Papa began his story of The Magic Kite: Once upon a time a little boy made a kite. He made the kite of paper and string. Then the little boy was very happy, and he said, “Blow, merry wind, blow; my kite and I Along with the breezes will fly, and fly.” Just then a voice said, “Perhaps you can fly, If you only try!” The little boy looked around, and there sat the funniest little dwarf. The dwarf sat cross-legged on an old tree-stump. “Ever think much about flying?” he said, and he screwed his face up into a thousand wrinkles. The little boy shook his head. Then the dwarf said, “Flying might be easy for you, The butterflies try it, The birds try it, too; Yes, it might be easy for you!” The little boy said, “I would like to fly; tell me truly how to do it.” The little dwarf said, “Just lend me your kite.” Then the dwarf took the little boy’s kite and he blew on it until it became bigger and stronger and it was indeed very hard to hold. The little dwarf then took hold of the string and the kite pulled harder and harder and harder, and soon it lifted the little dwarf off of his feet. He did not let go of the string. The little dwarf went up, up, up among the clouds. Soon the little boy could see only a speck among the clouds. He was beginning to be sorry he had loaned the dwarf his kite, for he was afraid he would never see it again. Then he heard a whistle and a voice called out,