THE LIFE OF THE THREAD-LEGGED BUG 157 



to capture it? To us the problem would appear difficult. Not so to 

 the insect. 



Among the old beams and timbers, spiders have built their webs 

 for generations. They have lived and died and abandoned their 

 silken snares to whatever purpose they might serve. At first they 

 grew heavy, grey with the dust of disuse. They served no second 

 purpose and eventually collapsed. 



That was long in the past x long before the thread-leg, abandoning 

 its home in the foliage for an easier mode of existence, crept into 

 the shelters of man. 



Perhaps that first man-shelter, reached by the thread-leg, was as 

 primitive as the insect herself, yet here she doubtless experienced a 

 cobweb for the first time and found it to her advantage. Perhaps 

 there was a fly entangled in the snare and no doubt she was hungry. 

 Next day, another creature, entangled, kept her in the neighborhood 

 of the abandoned web. Day after day her meals appeared, unbidden 

 by nectar. As if by magic, she had simply to step forward and claim 

 her prey. 



She found herself peculiarly adapted to living in the web. Her 

 long legs with cloven claws made travel easy, while deliberate, slug- 

 gish motions minimized the danger of entrapping herself. 



Here at length, she was sought by the male. Here she mated, spent 

 her reclining days and eventually died, leaving in her dormant eggs 

 the seeds of a new habit, sleeping now, but one day to affect her entire 

 race! 



It is strange that the thread-legged bugs should abandon the world 

 of sunlight and blossoms for their dingy abode among the spider 

 webs, yet it is in keeping with their slow and indolent mode of life. 

 Perhaps it is better to have one's food brought magically to hand 

 than to work for it, even at the sacrifice of sunlight! 



