Poor Araneina! How little she knew 

 of the javelin which this valiant knight 

 carried neath his gaudy doublet. But 

 she soon felt its piercing dart and my 

 little friend to whom I bad become so 

 attached, died like many another, a vic- 

 tim to her own appetite. 



With many sighs I removed her dead 

 body and the traces of her fairy habita- 

 tion, which had been the field of so 

 much carnage. 



Goodbye, Araneina. One spider at 

 least has had a fair chance. 



Laura May Burgess. 



THE HISTORY OF THREE LITTLE ROBINS. 



My first acquaintance with the baby 

 robins began on a warm day in August 

 last. When I saw them they were lying 

 on the ground under a slender pine in 

 which their nest had been built, and from 

 which they had evidently fallen. To re- 

 place them in it was not feasible, no 

 small boy being available to climb to the 

 top of the tree for that purpose, and in 

 all probability, the old domicile was too 

 badly washed out by a late heavy rain- 

 fall, to prove a secure dwelling place. 



I recalled having noticed a deserted 

 nest, tucked away in a vine growing by 

 the front door of the house. To take it 

 down and put in it the three little or- 

 phans, was the work of a moment. They 

 were cuddled closely together, the 

 warmth derived from the contact of their 

 small bodies, together with the homey 

 feeling of the new nest — all helped to 

 revive them. 



As they could not be put back in their 

 old quarters, a novel experiment was 

 tried. The nest was placed in a paper 

 box, in which holes were made and twine 

 run in, by which means the improvised 

 hammock was swung on the lower branch 

 of the pine, with the hope that the mother 

 might return to feed her offspring. She 

 probably thought the queer-looking 

 structure was a new-fashioned scare 

 crow ; for as far as I saw, she made her 

 appearance but once ; there she was 

 perched on the top of the tree, looking 

 out in a dazed way, with something in 

 her bill. I think, and seemingly saying 

 to herself, "Where Jwz'e thev gone?" She, 



like many human folk, lost the most 

 precious treasures of her life, by failing 

 to search at her own door. 



For about an hour the strange-looking 

 box and its contents hung amid the pine 

 boughs, when, an ominous black cloud 

 appearing in the sky, it became necessary 

 to cut down "cradle, baby and all." 



I felt then that the role of foster- 

 mother was about to be thrust upon me, 

 and I was weak enough to accept the sit- 

 uation, forgetting the fact that playing 

 the part of "Special Providence" to any 

 creature large or small, when undertaken 

 by an inexperienced hand, is sure to end 

 in dismal failure. 



However, my resolution was taken. I 

 carried nest and birdies to my room. To 

 feed them was the next thing in order. 

 Living, as I was, in a hotel, bird-proven- 

 der was not included in the menu, nor 

 was it possible on short notice, to pro- 

 cure hard-boiled yolks of eggs, or any- 

 thing in fact, that was a proper diet for 

 tiny robins. Fortunately, crackers were 

 on hand, and these when thoroughly 

 soaked and pasty, were fed in morsels to 

 the small specimens. The bit was placed 

 almost in the throat of the bird, who re- 

 alizing that a meal was ready, swallowed 

 quickly, and called for more. Signs of 

 returning vitality were visible. Cavern- 

 ous mouths were opened wide, abnormal- 

 ly long necks were craned up in expecta- 

 tion. I had heard that very young birds 

 must be fed "early and often," at short 

 intervals therefore, a lunch was provided, 

 which thev evidently relished. Earth 



