The Life of the Spider
hardly seems to distress her. She retains her usual colour and plumpness, which is a sign that the maternal exertions have not been too much for her.
I also notice an increased fervour in the chase. While burdened with her family she was remarkably abstemious, accepting only with great reserve the game placed at her disposal. The coldness of the season may have militated against copious refections; perhaps, also, the weight of the little ones hampered her movements and made her more discreet in attacking the prey.
To-day, cheered by the fine weather and able to move freely, she hurries up from her lair each time I set a tit-bit to her liking, buzzing at the entrance of her burrow; she comes and takes from my fingers the savoury Locust, the portly Anoxia[1]; and this performance is repeated daily, whenever I have the leisure to devote to it. After a frugal winter, the time has come for plentiful repasts.
This appetite tells us that the animal is not at the point of death; one does not feast in this way with a played-out stomach. My boarders are entering in full vigour upon their
- ↑ A species of Beetle.—Translator's Note.
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