so worried for fear that poor little mouse will be eaten by that dreadful old robber bird.

All of a sudden the Farmer’s Boy, with a yell of delight, started to run backward as fast as he could go. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” he kept shouting, as he pulled in the kite, hand over hand.

“What do you mean?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, all a-tremble, hopping about on one leg.

“I’ve caught the old hawk in my kite! I’m pulling him down, you betcher!” answered the Farmer’s Boy, as he carefully pulled in the string hand over hand, taking care to keep the string taut lest by a sudden slip backward the kite might untangle itself from the struggling bird. As the good home-made, brown paper kite slowly descended the little rabbit boy could make out the figure of Hungry Hawk pressed tight against the frame, his wings entangled in the face-strings.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Farmer’s Boy. “If I only had four hands and my gun along, I’d shoot the old bird from here.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” cried the little bunny boy rabbit. “You might hit Timmie Meadowmouse.”

“Like enough. Never thought about it,” answered the Farmer’s Boy. “Mebbe it’s just as well the old gun is home.”

By this time the kite was just overhead. Billy Breeze was helping all he could. He blew hard and strong, with a steady pressure, keeping the big brown paper kite from dipping. Maybe he was laughing at the old robber bird! Just then a little black figure dropped on a pile of hay on the Sunny Meadow.

“It’s Timmie Meadowmouse!” shouted the little bunny boy, but the Farmer’s Boy was so intent on his job he never turned his head. No, siree. He had all he could do to manage the kite. Frantically beating his wings, the old hawk wiggled and jiggled, this way and that, vainly trying to free himself from the clinging tied-together pieces of rags that formed the rudder to the big brown kite.

But, dear me! Just as the Farmer’s Boy reached up to grasp the fierce bird, either Billy Breeze forgot himself, or the good old kite could stand the strain no longer, or something gave way, a string or two, maybe a knot. All of a sudden, with a wiggle and jiggle, Hungry Hawk slipped out and sailed away, up and up, across the Big Red Barn to the freedom of the open sky. Yes, away he went. And, oh, dear me! I’m sorry that crafty old bird is free, much like a trouble that’s over today with another 

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