The Crab Spider 



sparks of that living firework. What a glo- 

 rious send-off! What an entrance into the 

 world ! Clutching its aeronautic thread, the 

 minute creature mounts in an apotheosis. 



Sooner or later, nearer or farther, the fall 

 comes. To live, we have to descend, often 

 very low, alas ! The Crested Lark crumbles 

 the mule-droppings in the road and thus picks 

 up his food, the oaten grain which he would 

 never find by soaring in the sky, his throat 

 swollen with song. We have to descend ; the 

 stomach's inexorable claims demand it. The 

 Spiderling, therefore, touches land. Gravity, 

 tempered by the parachute, is kind to her. 



The rest of her story escapes me. What 

 infinitely tiny Midges does she capture before 

 possessing the strength to stab her Bee? What 

 are the methods, what the wiles of atom con- 

 tending with atom? I know not. We shall 

 find her again in spring, grown quite large 

 and crouching among the flowers whence the 

 Bee takes toll. 



227 



