The Life of the Spider 



which the eggs are packed. The art of stout 

 fabrics and of walls within walls is unknown 

 here. 



The work of the Cross Spider is a pill of 

 white silk, wrought into a yielding felt, 

 through which the new-born Spiders will eas- 

 ily work their way, without the aid of the 

 mother, long since dead, and without having 

 to rely upon its bursting at the given hour. It 

 is about the size of a damson. 



We can judge the method of manufacture 

 from the structure. Like the Lycosa, whom 

 we saw, in Chapter III, at work in one of my 

 earthenware pans, the Cross Spider, on the 

 support supplied by a few threads stretched 

 between the nearest objects, begins by making 

 a shallow saucer of sufficient thickness to dis- 

 pense with subsequent corrections. The proc- 

 ess is easily guessed. The tip of the abdomen 

 goes up and down, down and up, with an even 

 beat, while the worker shifts her place a little. 

 Each time, the spinnerets add a bit of thread 

 to the carpet already made. 



When the requisite thickness is obtained, the 

 mother empties her ovaries, in one continuous 

 flow, into the centre of the bowl. Glued to- 

 gether by their inherent moisture, the eggs, 

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