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of them, and from the stalks of one of their species 
could make twine, bags, fishing nets, and a sort' of 
linen. A poor little fly who peeped into one of the 
bells as they were talking, was caught fast by the 
legs between the stiff filaments of the stamens which 
had sprung open and closed again at his touch, and 
Mary was obliged to pull the flower all to pieces 
before she could release the little captive. It was 
well she stood near just at that moment, for his 
struggles would soon have ended his life, or he 
would have left his delicate little limbs behind him. 
Mary had heard that when flies lose their legs others 
will grow out, but she was not sure it was true ; 
and when she saw the brilliant colors of the orange- 
colored Butterflv-weed filled with hundreds of these 
«/ 
unfortunate prisoners, she longed to set them all free. 
Most of them, however, were dead. One of these 
Asclepiases said, as if wishing to excuse herself. 
