The Life of the Spider
Punctually as darkness falls, our whole family goes and calls upon her. Big and little, we stand amazed at her wealth of belly and her exuberant somersaults in the maze of quivering ropes; we admire the faultless geometry of the net as it gradually takes shape. All agleam in the lantern-light, the work becomes a fairy orb, which seems woven of moonbeams.
Should I linger, in my anxiety to clear up certain details, the household, which by this time is in bed, waits for my return before going to sleep:
'What has she been doing this evening?' I am asked. 'Has she finished her web? Has she caught a Moth?'
I describe what has happened. To-morrow, they will be in a less hurry to go to bed: they will want to see everything, to the very end. What delightful, simple evenings we have spent looking into the Spider's workshop!
The journal of the Angular Epeira, written up day by day, teaches us, first of all, how she obtains the ropes that form the frame-work of the building. All day invisible, crouching amid the cypress-leaves, the Spider, at about eight o'clock in the evening,
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