Under the Oaks and Elsewhere 



moved me to turn away until the brave crested 

 tit called me to my senses. It would be better 

 for us, could the fact always be remembered 

 that there is no better medicine for winter- 

 weariness than the trifling green of an early 

 April day. 



The fifth morning, I found a dew-spangled 

 spider web, so substantially woven that it dis- 

 tinctly resisted my finger as I pressed against 

 it. It was a large, apron-like platform gently 

 leading to the spider's den and the creature 

 herself, though in full view, was very incon- 

 spicuous. Her neutral tints blended with the 

 surroxmdings in most skillful way, her legs ap- 

 pearing to be so many bits of dead grass, and 

 her body, a withered leaf. The web glittered 

 in the sun, for countless minute dew-drops were 

 scattered over it. Evidently the spider was 

 still waiting for her breakfast or there would 

 have been evidence of commotion. Insect life, 

 evidently, must be active again, yet I had not 

 noticed any fly or beetle. This web, beautiful 

 in itself, was not forgotten all that day. Until 

 the goal was reached, it held my thoughts, as 

 when flies struggle hopelessly in its mazy toils. 



Almost a month passed before I was again 

 241 



