The Crab Spider 193 



hugging her nest and turning into a shrivelled 

 relic. 



When July comes, the little ones emerge. In 

 view of their acrobatic habits, I have placed a 

 bundle of slender twigs at the top of the cage in 

 which they were born. All of them pass through 

 the wire gauze and form a group on the summit 

 of the brushwood, where they swiftly weave a 

 spacious lounge of criss-cross threads. Here 

 they remain, pretty quietly, for a day or two ; 

 then foot-bridges begin to be flung from one 

 object to the next. This is the opportune 

 moment. 



I put the bunch laden with beasties on a small 

 table, in the shade, before the open window. 

 Soon, the exodus commences, but slowly and 

 unsteadily. There are hesitations, retrogres- 

 sions, perpendicular falls at the end of a thread, 

 ascents that bring the hanging Spider up again. 

 In short, much ado for a poor result. 



As matters continue to drag, it occurs to me, 

 at eleven o'clock, to take the bundle of brush- 

 wood swarming with the little Spiders, all eager 

 to be off, and place it on the window-sill, in the 

 glare of the sun. After a few minutes of heat 



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