Keep-Well Stories for Little Folks

by May Farinholt Jones

THE STORY OF A FLY

I was hatched one sunny day in May in the nicest, warmest, dirtiest spot you ever saw. It was in a barnyard heap, just outside a city, that I first saw the light. I was not very old before I had to take care of myself, so you may know I was glad that I had opened my eyes for the first time in such a dirty place, because it is much easier for a baby fly to take care of himself in a dirty place than in a clean one.

My good mother knew this when she flew away that May morning and left the tiny egg, from which I came, to Dame Nature to care for. Mother Fly knew that warmth, dirt, and moisture were all that a baby fly needed in its infant days. She knew that the dump-heap at the barn made the nicest kind of cradle for her baby, and it was rent-free to all the mother flies in the neighborhood.

Day by day, I grew and soon began to take notice of things around me. It was not long before I saw that some of the other baby flies which were in the dump-heap with me had grown some beautiful gauzy wings. On these wings they began making daily visits from our fly-nursery to a near-by farm-house. When they came back from these visits, they would talk long and loud about the good time they had, and the nice things they had to eat in the great world outside the dump-heap.

I was mighty glad that my wings were growing stronger each day. One morning, bright and early, I sailed away on my beautiful wings to see if all the wonderful things my little fly friends had told me were true. I followed the lead of my friends, and we soon came to that same farm-house. First, we went to a door—a screen they called it—and tried hard to get through. To our great disappointment, we could not get through; the screen was closed tight. One little fly said, "I will find a way in, I don't believe the folks who live here have been so careful with the kitchen door." So we flew away, and sure enough the kitchen screen door was standing ajar, with just enough of a crack in it for a busy little fly to slip through into the kitchen. I was next to the last one to get through; and, alas! when I did get in, you never saw such a disappointed little fly in your life. Everything looked very clean, too clean for me to enjoy it. Presently, one of my friends called to me and O joy! he had found some soiled dishes and bits of food on a table, just the thing for a tired, hungry little fly. The sugar bowl was uncovered, and, oh, how I did eat, for I dote on nice, sweet sugar.

The pantry door stood ajar, and I could see some nice things to eat in there also. After we had feasted on the good things in the kitchen, we flew into the dining-room. There on the table was a pitcher filled with milk. I jumped into the pitcher and took a nice bath and a good swim. I came out very much refreshed, for I had left there in the milk pitcher all the dirt I had gathered on my feet and body in my early life. I walked much better. I walked all over the food which was on the table and I also walked on the baby's bottle which was on a nearby shelf.

While I was thinking what I would do next, a lady came into the room. She had a dear little baby in her arms. You know how I love little babies. I love to tickle their noses and to lick the sweets from their juicy little mouths. I sat and watched the little fellow, awaiting my chance to make his acquaintance. Presently the lady gave the baby some milk to drink from the pitcher in which I had had such a nice bath. After the little fellow was fed, the lady put him to sleep and laid him in his crib in the next room for his morning nap. My friends told me to come with them into this room, the nursery. The lady had forgotten to put a net over the little fellow; so I crawled around and ate some sugar from his lips. It tasted so good that I crawled almost into his mouth.

Since that happy morning, I have spent almost every day between the farm-house and out-houses. I have my daily bath in the milk pitcher and my dinner from the nice juicy food on the table. Very often I get my lunch of sweets from the corners of the baby's mouth, and I like this best of all.

For several days I have felt lonely. I noticed that the baby did not come to the dining-room to get his milk and sugar. I kept wondering why he did not come, and finally I wandered into the nursery to see for myself. What do you think? The baby was lying in his crib all red and hot. While his mother was busy, I crawled on his mouth to see if there was any sugar in the corners for a lunch. Then away I flew.