Leo and the Kite That Cost Nothing

Chapter 1: A rich boy who has every toy but wants to play with the poor boy’s simple kite

At the top of Silver Hill stood the biggest house in town. It had a gate, a fountain, and a playroom the size of a gymnasium.

In that playroom lived Leo, a boy of nine who owned absolutely everything.

He had a train set that ran through three rooms, a remote-control helicopter, a robot that could walk and talk, a rocking horse with a real leather saddle, and shelves that reached the ceiling, crowded with games still in their boxes.

"Whatever you want, Leo," said his father, "just ask."

And Leo asked, and the toys arrived. But after a day or two, each one lost its shine and joined the pile in the corner.

"I'm bored," Leo would sigh, flopping onto a heap of stuffed animals. "There's nothing to play with."

One windy afternoon, he stood at his bedroom window, chin on his arms, looking down the hill.

In the empty field below, a boy was running.

He was about Leo's age, thin, with patched trousers and bare ankles. Behind him, high in the sky, soared a kite. It wasn't a fancy kite. It was made of brown paper and thin sticks, with a tail of knotted rags and a string wound around an old tin can.

But it danced. It swooped and soared and twirled, and the boy ran and laughed and tugged the string, and his whole face shone.