THE STORY OF THE LAST FLY
I
SUMMER-TIME is a merry time for flies. It is hard to tell just how it all happened. There were so many flies; thousands of them, gaily flying and buzzing.
When Little Fly was born, she straightened out her wings and immediately felt happy,—so happy that one really cannot tell it in words. It was all so interesting. The doors and windows leading to the porch were thrown wide open in the morning, and Little Fly flitted in and out as she pleased.
"How kind human beings are!" exclaimed Little Fly, astonished, flying in and out of the windows. "The windows were made for us, and they are open for us. It is so nice to be alive and feeling so happy."
She flew in and out of the garden many times. Sitting on a blade of grass, she admired the blooming lilacs, the delicate leaves of the budding poplars, and the different flowers in their beds. The gardener, still unknown to her, had taken care of everything. What a kind gardener! Little Fly was not born yet and he had already prepared everything she might need. It was all the more amazing since he himself was not only unable to fly, but he even walked about with great difficulty, trembling all over at times, and muttering to himself.
"I wonder where these nasty flies come from?" grumbled the kind gardener.