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serene as

he did

then. I

used to

fancy, as

I sat by

him of an

evening,

on a green

slope, and

saw him

watch the

kite high

in the

quiet air,

that it

lifted his

mind out

of its

confusion,

and bore

it (such

was my

boyish

thought)

into the

skies. As

he wound

the string

in and it

came lower

and lower

down out

of the

beautiful

light,

until it

fluttered

to the

ground,

and lay

there like

a dead

thing, he

seemed to

wake

gradually

out of a

dream; and

I remember