er that was resting against the
cliff, near which the rope was yet trailing.

The efforts of all three were alike vain. For a second or two, the end
of the cord hung oscillating above their heads--just sufficiently out of
reach to tantalise them; and then, as if the invisible hand above had
given it another gigantic jerk, it was drawn rapidly and vertically
upward, till it finally disappeared over the crest of the cliff!

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

NO MORE PAPER-TREES!

There was nothing mysterious in the disappearance of the cord. The kite
was no longer visible on the summit of the cliff. The wind had carried
it away; and, of course, its rope along with it.

When the first moment of surprise had passed, our adventurers turned
towards each other with glances that spoke something more than
disappointment. Notwithstanding the number of times that the kite had
failed to fix itself, still it had once taken a fast hold, and it was
but reasonable to suppose it would have done so again. Besides, there
were other places where the precipice was as low, and even lower, than
where they had made the trials; and at some of these they might have
been more successful. Indeed, there was every probability that, had
they not lost that kite, they would have been able in due time to have
climbed out of their rock-bound prison by a ladder of rope; but now all
chance of doing so was gone for ever--swept off by a single puff of
wind.

You may be fancying, that the misfortune was not irremediable. Another
kite, you will be saying, might be constructed out of similar materials
as those used in making the one carried away. But to say this, would be
to speak without a full knowledge of the circumstances.

The same thought had already passed through the minds of our
adventurers, when they perceived that the kite they were flying was
getting torn and otherwise damaged.

"We can easily make another," suggested Caspar at that crisis.

"No, brother," was the answer of Karl; "never another, I fear. We have
paper enough left to patch this one; but not enough to make another."

"But we can make more paper, can we not?" urged Caspar, interrogatively.

"Ah!" again replied Karl, with a negative shake of the head, "no more--
not another sheet!"

"But why? Do you think there are no more daphne trees?"

"I think there are not. You remember we stripped all there were in the
thicket; and since then, thinking we might need more bark, I ha