The first time that Sir William and his family drove over to the rectory, in their grand yellow-bodied coach, with a big-wigged coachman on the box and two footmen in smart liveries behind, the good merchant said to his sister--"Do you remember, Kitty, my first ride over this road on the little dog-cart? Oh never, never have I enjoyed a ride half as much as that. I never shall have such another, for I never can be _little Willie_ again."
One bright October afternoon, when I was about twelve years old, for some reason there was no school; so half a dozen of us went out into a great field that adjoined our play-ground, to try a new kite which we had hired one of the big boys, who was a great hand at such things, to make for us.
It was a handsome round-headed kite, with a broad jolly face very cleverly painted on it. Because of this face, we gave it the name of "Diddle Diddle Dumpling," in honor of that old rhyme, in which a youth named "John" is said to have gone to bed with "one stocking off and one stocking on."
The first time we tried to raise it, like the negro minstrel's chicken, its "tail" was "too short to fly high," and it went darting and pitching and bobbing its jolly head about in so many directions, and in such queer, drunken ways, that if we had not known Diddle to be a most proper individual, we should have supposed he had been taking something to drink, and it had "gone to his head." But, as I said above, the trouble was not with his _head_; and besides, although it is the nature of kites usually, to "get high" whenever they have a chance, we knew that Diddle had never got so.
After we had added another bob or two, and pinned (I was half afraid the _pin_ would make him dart about more than ever) a tuft of slashed paper to his tail, we tried him once more.
One boy climbed up on the fence, and held Diddle as high as he could--another held his tail, which was already squirming about, but I think it was the wind and _not_ the pin, that made it--while I held the string and was to do the running. When they cried "Ready!" I started, at the top of my speed, across the field towards the woods, which were about a quarter of a mile off.
At the first bound I made, up shot Diddle like a rocket, with his long, graceful tail streaming behind him;--up, and up, and up, till the distance seemed to rub his jolly face out. First the laughing wrinkles disappeared, then his eyes, then his fat rosy cheeks melted away; and, last of all, his fiery nose went out, and there was nothing to be seen of our kite but a little speck floating like a bird away up in the blue heaven.