words, to the string of her favourite kite.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" Honeysuckle would ask. "What can those
queer-looking papers be?"

"On every piece is written a sin that we have done."

"What is a sin, Daddy?"

"Oh, when Honeysuckle has been naughty; that is a sin!" he answered
gently. "Your old nurse is afraid to scold you, and if you are to grow
up to be a good woman, Daddy must teach you what is right."

Then Mr. Min would send the kite up high--high over the house-tops,
even higher than the tall Pagoda on the hillside. When all his cord
was let out, he would pick up two sharp stones, and, handing them to
Honeysuckle, would say, "Now, daughter, cut the string, and the wind
will carry away the sins that are written down on the scraps of paper."

"But, Daddy, the kite is so pretty. Mayn't we keep our sins a little
longer?" she would innocently ask.

"No, child; it is dangerous to hold on to one's sins. Virtue is the
foundation of happiness," he would reply sternly, choking back his
laughter at her question. "Make haste and cut the cord."

So Honeysuckle, always obedient--at least with her father--would saw
the string in two between the sharp stones, and with a childish cry of
despair would watch her favourite kite, blown by the wind, sail farther
and farther away, until at last, straining her eyes, she could see it