i38 MIDSUMMER NIGHT 



Gradually the children reached their 

 homes, and no more cries came from the 

 meadow. The little spider paused half-way 

 between the leaves, and hung quiescent. 

 Perhaps some flaw in his architectural scheme 

 was apparent to him, or he feared that the 

 wind of the summer night would destroy 

 his foundation threads. Born only a few 

 weeks before, without tuition or practice, 

 he knew the angles of his pillars, the pro- 

 portions of his stanchions, the symmetry and 

 balance of his walls. He had watched no 

 honey-coloured parent at work, yet within 

 his minute brain were the plans of a perfect 

 system to entangle the smallest flying insects, 

 feeble of wing, that would fall against his web. 

 The pools of gold about the oaks slowly 

 drained away, and the sky above became 

 a more profound blue. Three swifts passed 

 above, wheeling in final flight before creep- 

 ing to their nests of straw-speck and saliva 

 under the tiles of the church. The songs of 

 the warblers and thrushes as the light drains 



