l day long she sent up her kite from the
seashore, praying that a child might be born to her and convince Bimsha
of the truth. Every one said: "Katipah is mad about kite-flying! See
how early she goes and how late she stays: hardly any weather keeps her
indoors."

One day the west wind came full-breathed over land and sea, and Katipah
was among the first on the beach to send up her messenger with word to
Gamma-gata of the thing for which she prayed. "Gamma-gata," she sighed,
"the voice of Bimsha afflicts me daily; my heart is bruised by the
mockery she casts at me. Did I not love thee under the plum-tree,
Gamma-gata? Ask of Heaven, therefore, that a child may be born to
me--ever so small let it be--and Bimsha will become dumb. Gamma-gata, it
is a very little thing that I am asking!"

All day long she let her kite go farther up into the sky than all the
other kites. Overhead the wind sang in their strings like bees, or like
the thin cry of very small children; but Katipah's was so far away she
could scarcely see it against the blue. "Gamma-gata," she cried; till
the twilight drew sea and land together, and she was left alone.

Then she called down her kite sadly; hand over hand she drew it by
the cord, till she saw it fluttering over her head like a great moth
searching for a flower in the gloom. "Wahoo! wahoo!" she could hear the
wind crying through its strings like the wailing of a very small child.

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