The Banded Epeira 



tacle has been so nicely calculated that there 

 is room for all the eggs, without leaving any 

 space unoccupied. When the Spider has 

 finished and retires, I catch a momentary 

 glimpse of the heap of orange-coloured eggs; 

 but the work of the spinnerets is at once 

 resumed. 



The next business is to close the bag. The 

 machinery works a little differently. The 

 tip of the belly no longer sways from side to 

 side. It sinks and touches a point; it re- 

 treats, sinks again and touches another point, 

 first here, then there, describing inextricable 

 zigzags. At the same time, the hind-legs 

 tread the material emitted. The result is no 

 longer a stuff, but a felt, a blanketing. 



Around the satin capsule, which contains 

 the eggs, is the eiderdown destined to keep 

 out the cold. The youngsters will bide for 

 some time in this soft shelter, to strengthen 

 their joints and prepare for the final exodus. 

 It does not take long to make. The spinning- 

 mill suddenly alters the raw material: it was 

 turning out white silk; it now furnishes 

 reddish-brown silk, finer than the other and 

 issuing in clouds which the hind-legs, those 

 dexterous carders, beat into a sort of froth. 



91 



