that he loves me?" And the child would crow with mysterious delight, being too
young to tell anything it knew in words.

Bimsha, out of her window, watched and saw all this, not comprehending it: and
in her evil heart a wish grew up that she might by some means put an end to
all Katipah's happiness. So one day towards evening, when Katipah, alone upon
the shore, had let her kite and her little one go up to the fleecy edges of a
cloud through which the golden sunlight was streaming, Bimsha came softly
behind and with a sharp knife cut the string by which alone the kite was held
from falling.

"Oh, silly Bimsha!" cried Katipah, "what have you done that for?"

Up in air the kite made a far plunge forward, fluttered and stumbled in its
course, and came shooting headlong to earth. "Oh dear!" cried Katipah, "it my
beautiful little kite gets torn, Bimsha, that will be your fault!"

When the kite fell, it lay unhurt on one of the soft sandhills that ringed the
bay; but no sign of the child was to be seen. Katipah was laughing when she
picked up her kite and ran home. And Bimsha thought, "Is it witchcraft, or did
the child fall into the sea?"

In the night the West Wind came and tapped at Katipah's window; and rising
from her bed, she heard Gamma-gata's voice calling tenderly to her. When she
opened the window to the blindness of the black night, he kissed her, and
putting the little one in her arms, said, "Wait only a little while longer,
Katipah, and I will come again to you. Already you are learning to be brave."

In the morning Bimsha looked out, and there sat Katipah in her own doorway,
with the child safe and sound in her arms. And, plain to see, he had on a