The Narbonne Lycosa: The Family 



the Lycosa, that incomparable gipsy whose 

 brats are numbered by the hundred ! And 

 one and all of them, from September to April, 

 without a moment's respite, find room upon 

 the patient creature's back, where they are 

 content to lead a tranquil life and to be 

 carted about. 



The little ones are very good; none moves, 

 none seeks a quarrel with his neighbours. 

 Clinging together, they form a continuous 

 drapery, a shaggy ulster under which the 

 mother becomes unrecognizable. Is it an ani- 

 mal, a fluff of wool, a cluster of small seeds 

 fastened to one another? 'Tis impossible to 

 tell at the first glance. 



The equilibrium of this living blanket is not 

 so firm but that falls often occur, especially 

 when the mother climbs from indoors and 

 comes to the threshold to let the little ones 

 take the sun. The least brush against the gal- 

 lery unseats a part of the family. The mishap 

 is not serious. The Hen, fidgeting about her 

 Chicks, looks for the strays, calls them, gath- 

 ers them together. The Lycosa knows not 

 these maternal alarms. Impassively, she leaves 

 those who drop off to manage their own dif- 

 ficulty, which they do with wonderful quick- 



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