What do you think of that for a kite?

　　I was going away, when he directed my attention to the kite.

　　'What do you think of that for a kite?' he said.

　　I answered that  it was a  beautiful one.  I  should think it  must have been as much as seven feet high.

　　'I made it.  We'll go and fly it, you and I,' said Mr. Dick.  'Do you see this?'

　　He showed me that it was  covered with manuscript, very closely and  laboriously written; but so plainly, that as I looked along the lines, I thought I saw  some allusion to King Charles the First's head again, in one or two places.

　　'There's plenty of string,' said Mr. Dick, 'and when it flies high, it takes the facts a long way.   That's my manner of  diffusing 'em. I don't  know where they may come down.  It's according to circumstances, and the wind, and so forth; but I take my chance of that.'

　　His face was  so very mild  and pleasant, and  had something so  reverend in it, though it was  hale and hearty,  that I was  not sure but  that he was  having a good-humoured jest with  me.  So I  laughed, and he  laughed, and we  parted the best friends possible.

　　'Well, child,' said  my aunt, when  I went downstairs.   'And what of  Mr. Dick, this morning?'

　　I  informed her  that he  sent his  compliments, and  was getting  on very  well indeed.

　　'What do you think of him?' said my aunt.

　　I had some shadowy idea of endeavouring to evade the question, by replying  that I thought him a very nice gentleman; but  my aunt was not to be so put  off, for she laid her work down in her lap, and said, folding her hands upon it:

　　'Come!  Your  sister Betsey  Trotwood would  have told  me what  she thought  of anyone, directly.  Be as like your sister as you can, and speak out!'