But he was not playing with his toys. He had laid his tin-soldier on the grass, though the little tin-soldier had been sleeping all morning and felt like a march. He had stood his horse-and-wagon in the shade, though the horse had been resting all morning and felt like a gallop. He had braced his Teddy Bear against a tree, though the Teddy Bear had been leaning against a chair all morning and felt like a romp. They all looked reproachfully at Billy, but he did not notice them. He seemed to be thinking deeply.
Suddenly he put his hand in his pocket. When he drew it out, it was a little fist. When he opened the little fist, he gazed lovingly at a piece of pink worsted, all crumpled up! He took an end of it in each hand and stretched it out as long as he could reach. Then he crumpled it up again and put it in his pocket.
"What's that, Billy?"
Billy jumped. Looking in the direction of the voice, he saw a grasshopper sitting on a blade of grass.
"What's that in your pocket?" asked the grasshopper.
"Just a little piece of worsted," Billy replied, putting his hand in his pocket again to be sure it was there.
"Where did you get it?" asked the grasshopper.
"At kindergarten," answered Billy.