Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Dylan who just loved getting dirty. He loved digging in the mud, walking through puddles, throwing a handful of dust into the air so that it flew everywhere, and he loved any other activity that made a mess. In fact, the dirtier he got, the happier he was. Unlike some adults around him who thought that Dylan should not get dirty all the time, he should be careful to keep his clothes clean. Well, they were wrong. If Dylan did that, he could not have saved the dustling. Would you like to hear their story?

One drizzly morning, Daddy was not in a very good mood: ‘It’s raining again’, he complained.

‘It’s only a drizzle, darling’, Mummy stroked his hand.

‘I don’t like the rain’, murmured Daddy, ‘I don’t like getting wet.’

‘I do!’, exclaimed Dylan.

‘We know that, sweetheart’, Mummy caressed his head.

Dylan tried to get Daddy in a better mood: ‘You see, when the ground gets wet, there will be mud, and you can play with it: you can dig it, you can build something out of it, you can bake a mud cake, you can play all sorts of things with the mud.’

Daddy smiled at him: ‘You are right, love’, and he hugged Dylan. ‘Did you know how good the mud was?’, Daddy asked Mummy hugging her too.

‘Of course I knew’, Mummy exclaimed, ‘I love washing muddy clothes and cleaning muddy wellies’, she laughed.

Dylan was a bit confused: ‘You do?’, he asked.

‘Not really’, Mummy confessed, ‘but never mind, love, just play as you like.’

Dylan put on his waterproof trousers and jacket and his crocodile wellies. They were all perfectly clean - until Daddy and Dylan set off to school. Dylan jumped into the very middle of the first puddle he saw, and the puddle was surprisingly deep. So not only Dylan’s crocodile wellies, waterproof trousers and jacket got muddy but also Daddy’s shoes, his non-waterproof trousers and his freshly washed jacket. In fact, even Daddy’s nose had a spot of mud on it.

Dylan was happy. ‘This is gonna be a fun day’, he thought.

When they arrived to the classroom, the teacher let out a little cry: ‘Good morning, Dylan’, she said, ‘You are a bit muddy, aren’t you?’

‘A bit’, Daddy agreed as he tried to clean the mud spot off his nose with a tissue.

By playtime, the drizzle turned into a lightish rain. The teachers lamented a bit whether they should let the children play outside or not. Someone checked the weather forecast which said that by lunchtime, there will be a heavy rain, so they decided to let the children out now since they would not be able to play outside later.

The teacher helped Dylan put his waterproof trousers and jacket and his crocodile wellies on, and they went outside to play.

By the time everyone was out in the playground, the rain was somewhat heavyish already.

Dylan was happier than happy. He dug the mud in the planter with his hands. He built quite a heap of mud next to the planter and jumped into it. The mud flew everywhere and covered everyone around. Some children screamed, some complained, someone even said a word that should not be said in school. But Dylan was happy and started it all over again.

‘Hi, Dylan’, the teacher came to talk to him, ‘I can see you are building something.’

‘It’s a boat’, Dylan explained.

‘Is it?’, the teacher was somewhat taken aback, ‘Why do you need a boat, Dylan?’, she asked.

‘In case there will be flood’, said Dylan a bit surprised that this was not already clear for someone.

‘Oh, flood’, the teacher said, ‘I see.’

For a while, she looked at Dylan who was busily building his mud boat again.

‘You could use the plastic blocks, you know’, she suggested.

‘Mud’s better’, exclaimed Dylan.

‘Why is that?’, the teacher inquired.

‘Because it’s softer’, Dylan explained, ‘easier to build with.’

‘I see’, the teacher said and walked away thoughtfully.

At that moment, the rain started to fall so heavily that the play leader immediately rang the bell. Dylan was disappointed. He pretended not to notice that the bell went off and kept building his mud boat.

‘Dylan!’, the teacher called out, ‘Lining up time.’

Dylan was not happy to leave his boat. He stood above and looked at it for a while.

‘Dylan!’, the teacher called again, ‘We are going inside now.’

The little boy looked at his boat one last time and then started walking towards the class. After a few steps, he had an idea: he ran back and put a handful of the best, softest mud in his jacket pocket in case he would need it later in the classroom.

The class went inside, the children hung their coats up and put on their indoor shoes. They washed their hands and had a drink from their water bottles.

Suddenly, Dylan had an idea: when noone saw him, he poured some water from his bottle inside his jacket pocket because he was worried that his precious mud might dry up in the warm corridor. After that, he went into the classroom.

The class was learning about the human body. The teacher asked Dylan to lay down on a huge piece of paper, and she drew his body around. Then, the teacher drew some internal organs on the picture of Dylan’s body: ‘These are the lungs you breath with, this is the heart that pumps your blood everywhere in your body, this is the brain you think with’, she explained.

The children were astonished.

‘I need a wee’, a little girl called out.

‘You may go to the toilet’, said the teacher. ‘Don’t forget to flush the loo and wash your hands afterwards.’

A minute later the class heard a loud shriek coming from the bathroom.

The teacher ran there to see what happened to the little girl. Dylan ran after her because he was worried about his class mate - and about his precious mud. ‘It might need to be watered again’, he thought.

When the teacher and Dylan reached the bathroom door, the little girl was laying on the floor crying and clutching her knee.

‘What happened?’, the teacher asked.

‘I fell’, the little girl cried.

‘Come’, said the teacher and helped the girl stand up.

The teacher took the girl to the tap and helped her wash her hands.

Meanwhile, Dylan stood there frozen and stared at his jacket pocket. You see, the well-watered mud came out of his pocket and flooded the doorway of the bathroom. There was quite a mud puddle there, and that was what the little girl had slipped on.

‘Oh’, Dylan said.

Fortunately, the teacher was too preoccupied with the little girl still crying, and she did not notice the mess in the doorway. So when the two of them went back to the classroom, Dylan set himself to repair the damage: he kneeled by the puddle and tried to get all the remaining mud in his hands which, as you can imagine, was not an easy task. He did manage to take a handful though, and was about to put it safely back into his jacket pocket when he heard someone crying again.

The voice seemed to be coming from his own palms. Dylan was puzzled. He opened his palms and let the mud drip slowly on his indoor trousers while he examined it carefully. When the bulk of the mud was gone, Dylan did indeed notice a tiny brown creature dripping of mud on his palm.

‘Who are you?’, Dylan asked, ‘And why are you crying?’, he added.

‘Dust– dustling’, sobbed the tiny creature.

‘Sorry?’, Dylan stared at it.

‘I’m a dustling’, cried the creature, ‘and I’m lost.’

Dylan carefully stroked the dustling with his index finger: ‘How can I help you?’, he asked.

‘First, hide me’, hissed the creature who had noticed the teacher coming back to the bathroom before Dylan himself did.

Dylan was just in time to hide the dustling in one of the pockets of his trousers, before the teacher inquired, horrified: ‘What’s all this mess here, Dylan?’

The little boy looked at the puddle. ‘A puddle’, he confessed.

‘A puddle of mud’, agreed the teacher, ‘but how did it get here?’

‘Well’, Dylan said, ‘I’m not quite sure.’

‘I see’, the teacher said. ‘Now, Dylan, wash your hands quickly and get back to the classroom. Chop, chop!’

Dylan did as he was told. But first, he took the dustling in his palm again.

‘Will you be all right in my pocket?’, he asked, worried.

‘For a short while’, said the creature. ‘But I need some mud as soon as possible.’

‘All right’, said Dylan, he put the dustling back in his pocket and went into the classroom.

Well into the lesson, the teacher noticed: ‘Dylan your trousers are all muddy. Please go and change them.’

Dylan went to the cloak room and got a new pair of trousers out of his bag. He carefully took the dustling out of his pocket.

‘Are you all right?’, he asked.

The creature was shivering: ‘Not really’, she said.

‘How can I help you?’, Dylan asked.

‘Please’, the dustling begged, ‘get me some mud. Quickly, please.’

‘Of course’, Dylan said and looked around.

Suddenly, he had an idea: he went to the plant that stood in the corner, and took some soil out in his hands. Then, he poured some water from the tap on top of it and put the dustling in the middle.

‘That’s better’, the creature sighed. ‘Thank you, Dylan.’

‘Now, tell me’, Dylan stroked the creature’s tiny head, ‘what you need me to do?’

‘I’m a dustling’, said the creature. ‘Dustlings live in herds, they are not meant to be alone. My herd is living under the great oak tree by the playground. One day, I was playing with my brothers and sisters and with my cousins, and a dog came. She sniffed at us and started digging. The others managed to hide but I got stuck between the dog’s toes, and she took me with her without even noticing me. I tried to get free and I finally fell on the ground. But then, a lady dug me up with some soil and put me in a bag. I couldn’t get out, it was horrible. An awful lot of time had passed, then, I was thrown into the planter in your school. I spent days and days there before you came and dug me up. Dylan, could you take me back to my family, please?’

‘Of course I will’, Dylan promised but the next minute, he put the dustling in its mud nest in his new trousers' pocket because he heard the teacher calling:

‘Are you ready yet, Dylan?’

‘Almost’, Dylan replied.

When he was back in the classroom, he kept touching his pocket to make sure that the dustling was all right inside.

At lunchtime, Dylan was drinking his milk, when the dustling whispered to him: ‘My mud is drying up.’

Dylan thought for a bit, then, he carefully poured some of his milk into his pocket.

‘Thank you’, whispered the dustling, grateful.

By some miracle, at lunchtime play, the sun unexpectedly came out and the rain, well, not exactly stopped, but it definitely became lighter than before, so the teachers decided to let the children out to the playground.

Dylan played with the dustling all playtime in the muddy planter. At lining up time, he put the tiny creature back in his pocket with enough mud to get her through the afternoon session.

After school, Dylan said to Mummy when she picked him up from school: ‘Can we go to the playground, please?’

‘It’s all wet and muddy’, Mummy protested.

‘I promise I won’t get muddy’, Dylan said.

Mummy looked at him and started to laugh: ‘More muddy, you mean? All right then.’

In the playground, Mummy started to talk to a friend, and Dylan slipped unnoticed to the great oak tree.

‘Here’, he said and put the dustling under the tree.

‘Thank you ever so much, Dylan’, the creature said.

Dylan watched as the little dustling’s family came to welcome her back. They all cried of joy and thanked Dylan a million times that he saved the little dustling and brought her back to them.

A few days later, it was raining again.

‘I don’t like the rain’, complained Daddy as he and Dylan were about to set off to school.

‘I do!’, exclaimed Dylan.

‘I know’, Daddy smiled, ‘All those potentials of the mud!’

‘Not just that’, Dylan protested, ‘Dustlings need rain to get the ground muddy for them.’

‘Who are the dustlings?’, Mummy asked.

So Dylan told Mummy and Daddy about his adventure with the little dustling. And his parents were really proud of Dylan for being such a kind and helpful little boy.