My mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a thorough sweeping. Again she cast a look toward the window. “Come on, girls! Let’s take string to the boys and watch them fly the kites a minute.”
On the way we met Mrs. Patrick, laughing guiltily as if she were doing something wrong, together with her girls.
There never was such a day for flying kites! We played all our fresh string into the boys’ kites and they went up higher and higher. We could hardly distinguish the orange-colored spots of the kites. Now and then we slowly pulled one kite back, watching it dancing up and down in the wind, and finally bringing it down to earth, just for the joy of sending it up again.
Even our fathers dropped their tools and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like schoolgirls. I think we were all beside ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their dignity; children forgot their everyday fights and little jealousies. “Perhaps it’s like this in the kingdom of heaven,” I thought confusedly.
It was growing dark before we all walked sleepily back to the houses. I suppose we had some sort of supper. I suppose there must have been a surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked clean and orderly enough. The strange thing was, we didn’t mention that day afterward. I felt a little embarrassed. Surely none of the others had been as excited as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we keep“the things that cannot be and yet they are.”
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