“She hadn’t, dear. She was what we call a ‘carrier’ of disease. For some reason which we can’t find out, a ‘carrier’ doesn’t fall ill, but will give the disease to any one else as surely as a very sick person, if the germs from the throat reach the throat or lips of others.” “Some lectures on hygiene might not be amiss in Number Three,” said Mr. Clyde. “That’s what medical school inspectors are for—to teach the teachers. The Board of Education should be getting it started.” “What are you doing over there, Twinkles?” said Mr. Clyde to Bettina, who had slipped from his knee and was sliding her chubby fist along the window-pane. The child looked around. “Thwat that fly,” she explained with perfect seriousness. “She has heard the other children talking about the fly-leaflets that have been scattered around. Where’s the fly, Toodles?” “Up they-arr,” replied Bettina, pointing to a far corner of the pane where a big “green-bottle” bumped its head against the glass. “Come down, buzzy fly.” “Now, where,” cried Mrs. Clyde, in despair, “do you suppose that wretched creature came from? I’m so particular always to keep the rooms screened and darkened.” “Please’m, it might have come from the kitchen,” suggested Katie. “There’s a plenty of ‘em there.” “And before that it came from your next-door neighbor’s manure-heap,” added Dr. Strong. “That particular kind of fly breeds only in manure. The fact is that the fly is about the nastiest thing alive. Compared to it, a hog is a gentleman, and a vulture an epicure. It loves filth, and unhappily, it also loves clean, household foods. Therefore the path of its feet is direct between the two—from your neighbor’s stable-yard to your dinner-table.” “Disgusting!” cried Mrs. Clyde. “Worse than disgusting: dangerous,” returned Dr. Strong, unmoved by her distaste. “A fly’s feet are more than likely to be covered with disease-bearing matter, which he leaves behind him.” “Something ought to be done about Freeman’s manure-heap, next door. I’ll see to it,” announced Mr. Clyde. “Doubtless you could report him for maintaining a nuisance,” admitted Dr. Strong; “in which case he might—er—conceivably retort upon you with your unscreened garbage-pails, which are hatcheries for another variety of fly.” “That’s a beam in the eye for you, Tom,” said Grandma Sharpless. “Meantime I’ll have the kitchen windows and doors screened at once,” declared Mrs. Clyde.