…And when the paste was made, it was left upon a plate to cool. Frank, as soon as it was cool enough to be used, took it to his father, and asked him, if he might now begin to make his kite; but his father said, “My dear, I cannot find a slip of wood for you; and you cannot well make your kite without that; but I am going to the carpenter’s; and I can get such a bit as I want from him—If you wish to come, you may come with me.” Frank said that he should like to go to the carpenter’s; so his father took him along with him.
The carpenter lived in a village, which was about a mile from Frank’s home ; and the way to it was by the turnpike road. As he walked along with his father, he saw some men, who were lifting up a tree, which they had just cut down—It had been growing in a hedge by the road side—The men put the tree upon a sort of carriage; and then they dragged the carriage along the road. “What are they going to do with this tree, papa ?” said Frank—”Will you ask them ?”