The Life of the Spider 



The next morning, on the same yucca, I 

 gather the second family, as numerous as the 

 first. Yesterday's preparations are repeated. 

 My legion of Spiders first weaves a divergent 

 framework between the top of the brushwood 

 placed at the emigrants' disposal and the edge 

 of the table. Five or six hundred wee beasties 

 swarm all over this work-yard. 



While this little world is busily fussing, 

 making its arrangements for departure, I 

 make my own. Every aperture in the room is 

 closed, so as to obtain as calm an atmosphere 

 as possible. A small chafing-dish is lit at the 

 foot of the table. My hands cannot feel the 

 heat of it at the level of the web whereon 

 my Spiders are weaving. This is the very 

 modest fire which, with its column of rising 

 air, shall unwind the threads and carry them 

 on high. 



Let us first enquire the direction and 

 strength of the current. Dandelion-plumes, 

 made lighter by the removal of their seeds, 

 serve as my guides. Released above the cha- 

 fing-dish, on the level of the table, they float 

 slowly upwards and, for the most part, reach 

 the ceiling. The emigrants' lines should rise 

 in the same way and even better. 

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