A RACE OF TELEGRAPHERS 3 
They climb to the top of some object—a fence 
post, a weed stalk, the end of a twig, or perhaps 
just a hummock of earth. From this vantage 
point they spin out a thread, which the wind bears 
gently away. If it is contemplating a voyage of 
any extent, the spider attaches a small flaky mass, 
a product of its own manufacture, to the thread 
to increase the force of the air current upon it. 
On goes the spinning until the friction of the air 
upon the silken thread is strong enough to buoy 
up the spider, when it lets go with its feet, and 
is borne away by the wind. A novel balloonist 
enough, don’t you think? ” 
“ Yes, indeed,” cried Tommy excitedly, having 
abandoned an interesting book to join the group. 
“ I’ve seen ’em flying along, too, but I didn’t 
think much about it—didn’t know it was a spider 
ballooning, I mean. I thought it was just a 
spider’s web torn away by the wind.” 
“ That’s the trouble with most of us, my boy,” 
said Uncle John, soberly. “ We take too many 
miracles just for granted. And we make mira¬ 
cles and direful portents of simple matters that 
are very easily explained. For example, a few 
mornings ago I chanced to be passing Deacon 
Trueblood’s; Miss Margaret hailed me in con¬ 
siderable excitement, wanting me to come and 
see the silken sheet which the fairies had spread 
over the newly plowed ground where she was 
