The Garden Spiders: Building the Web 



and refuses to do his duty, the fowler is able 

 to stimulate him without stirring from his hut. 

 A long string sets in motion a little lever work- 

 ing on a pivot. Raised from the ground by 

 this diabolical contrivance, the bird flies, falls 

 down and flies up again at each jerk of the 

 cord. 



The fowler waits, in the mild sunlight of 

 the autumn morning. Suddenly, great excite- 

 ment in the cages. The Chaffinches chirp their 

 rallying-cry : 



Thick! Pinck!' 



There is something happening in the sky. 

 The Sambe, quick ! They are coming, the sim- 

 pletons; they swoop down upon the treacher- 

 ous floor. With a rapid movement, the man 

 in ambush pulls his string. The nets close and 

 the whole flock is caught. 



Man has wild beast's blood in his veins. 

 The fowler hastens to the slaughter. With his 

 thumb, he stifles the beating of the captives' 

 hearts, staves in their skulls. The little birds, 

 so many piteous heads of game, will go to mar- 

 ket, strung in dozens on a wire passed through 

 their nostrils. 



For scoundrelly ingenuity, the Epeira's net 

 can bear comparison with the fowler's; it ever 

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