A RAINY DAY 225 



This transforming power of dew and mist is 

 wonderful. We once found a strikingly beautiful 

 example of it in one of the angles of our foot- 

 bridge. We had watched a large orb-weaver spin 

 her web there in the evening and had admired her 

 skill. The web was one of the largest I ever saw. 

 Its great guy-lines stretching between the timbers 

 of the bridge were at least a yard in length. One 

 dewy morning we inspected the corner and found 

 that tiny drops had gathered on the threads and 

 transformed them into strings of pearls fit to adorn 

 a fairy. The elastic cross lines felt the weight of 

 the water and hung in graceful loops. The web 

 had seemed perfect before, but now it was even 

 more exquisite in our eyes. We could see, how- 

 ever, that the spider would have to wait for dry 

 weather before her web would be of any use to 

 her as a snare. 



There are many forest paths along the Little 

 Indian. It would be hard to choose between them. 

 I followed the first one I came 

 to and in a few moments it 

 brought me to a garden of vio- 

 lets. There were blue ones of 

 several kinds and white ones. 

 The ground was so thickly cov- 

 ered with them that I could 

 with difficulty make my way 

 through without stepping on 

 them. They grew tall and vig- 

 orous, the flowers nodding on stems sometimes as 

 much as six inches long. A little farther on I came 



WHITE VIOLETS 



