The Life of the Fly- 

 friend: he consoles me for the woes hidden 

 behind the cover of my book. Thanks to him, 

 I sit quietly on my bench and wait more or less 

 till school is over. 



School out of doors has other charms. When 

 the master takes us to kill the snails in the box 

 borders, I do not always scrupulously fulfil 

 my office as an exterminator. My heel some- 

 times hesitates before coming down upon the 

 handful which I have gathered. They are so 

 pretty ! Just think, there are yellow ones and 

 pink, white ones and brown, all with dark 

 spiral streaks. I fill my pockets with the 

 handsomest, so as to feast my eyes on them at 

 my leisure. 



On hay-making days in the master's field, I 

 strike up an acquaintance with the Frog. 

 Flayed and stuck at the end of a split stick, he 

 serves as bait to tempt the crayfish to come out 

 of his retreat by the brook-side. On the alder- 

 trees I catch the Hoplia, the splendid Scarab 

 who pales the azure of the heavens. I pick the 

 narcissus and learn to gather, with the tip of 

 my tongue, the tiny drop of honey that lies 

 right at the bottom of the cleft corolla. I also 

 learn that too-long indulgence in this feast 

 brings a headache; but this discomfort in no 

 way impairs my admiration for the glorious 



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