“The members of the Diptera order of course,” answered Mrs. Mosquito, with an important air. “You see, I found you sleeping under the tree and I knew you wanted to learn about the things that are worth while, and as we are very worth while, I sent a friend to tell all the members of our order to meet in this spot.”
“Exactly what that young mosquito told me,” said Mrs. Hessian Fly, buzzing up excitedly.
She was a dusky-winged creature, scarcely more than an eighth of an inch long.
“What is the Diptera anyhow?”
“Why, you are one,” explained Mrs. Mosquito, with a superior smile. “It is quite a tax to know things for everybody,” she said to Ruth, “but you see I am around men so much I learn a great deal. I once attended a meeting of the men who think themselves wise. I wasn’t invited, you understand, but I went, and I attracted much attention too. Well, this is what I heard: The audience will please listen, it concerns you all:
“‘The members of the order Diptera have two gauzy wings and two thread-like organs with knobs at the end in the place where most other insects have a second pair of wings. Their mouth is framed for sucking, and sometimes for piercing. Only a few make cocoons. Their larvæ are called maggots, and they have no legs. Some are vegetable eaters, some carnivorous, and many are scavengers.’ They said all that about us, and maybe it’s true, but I tell you every man in that meeting felt my sting.”
“I don’t care what they say,” remarked Mrs. Hessian Fly. “To be talked about shows our importance, though I have never doubted mine. My family is a Revolutionary one, as my ancestors came over with the Hessians. Of course you have heard of them?”
“No, I am only interested in the people who live now,” answered Mrs. Mosquito.
“Well, I live now,” said Mrs. Hessian Fly, “and I am interesting enough for any use. I don’t make galls like so many flies, but simply lay my eggs in young blades of wheat, and when my little red babies hatch, they have only to crawl down and fasten themselves to the tender stalk, just below the ground. Don’t they love the sap, though? A field of wheat looks pretty sick after they have worked on it a while. Sometimes the wheat midges help them and then it is good-by to the wheat. Mrs. Wheat Midge, you know, lays her eggs in the opening flower of the grain, and her babies eat the pollen and ovule. You may guess what happens then.”
“I think it is real horrid to do that,” said Ruth.