SUMMER SPINNERS
An angular spider weaves
Great webs between the trees,
Webs that are witches' sieves.
And honey- and bumble-bees
Go droning among the leaves
Like the fairies' oboës.
Madison Cawein.
THE STORY OF ARACHNE
(GREEK MYTH)
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful Grecian maiden named Arachne, who could card and spin, weave and embroider with marvelous skill. She became so proud of her art that she boasted no one in the whole land could equal her.
So great was her fame that many traveled from afar to see the beautiful garments which she made. Whenever she sat at her loom a group of people stood near so that they might see her work in the making. Indeed, it is said, that even the nymphs left their haunts among streams and groves to behold the grace and ease with which this maiden worked.
One day a group of people stood watching Arachne at her loom. Their admiration knew no bounds. They looked at each other in astonishment.
"See how deftly she rolls the wool into soft fleecy balls," said one.
"And with what delicate grace she cards it," said another. "It is as light and fine as the mists of the morning. She is wonderful, indeed."
"Surely the maiden has more than human skill," added the first speaker. "I believe Minerva, the goddess of spinning and weaving, taught her how to throw that swift shuttle."
When Arachne heard these last words she stopped her work, tossed her head, and said haughtily, "I did not learn my art from Minerva, but I'm quite sure I can equal the goddess in skill."
"Hush!" cried one of the bystanders. "Those are rash words, indeed. No mortal can compare with the gods."
But Arachne's pride knew no bounds. She tossed her head again and said, "I'm willing at any time to match my skill with Minerva's. If she can prove herself to be my superior I'll bear any punishment she may name."
The people were very much frightened to hear the maiden boast in this manner. They slipped away to their homes in fear and dread.
A few days after this conversation happened Arachne was seated at her loom. As usual many who were interested stood watching her. Suddenly there appeared before her an aged woman leaning on a staff, who said, "Lo, I've come to give you advice which I have learned through the years. Beware of pride and boastfulness. True knowledge teaches humility. Seek for fame among mortals if you like, but never try to match your skill with Minerva's. Your proud boasting has offended the goddess. Ask humbly for her forgiveness and I believe she will pardon your rash words."
Arachne laughed scornfully and said, "Old woman, begone! I care not for your advice. If Minerva's skill is greater than mine let the goddess prove it by fair trial. Why does she not come herself to see me?"
Then a marvelous thing happened. In a twinkling the bent figure of the old woman changed to the shining form of the goddess Minerva. The nymphs who stood near bowed reverently and the people drew back in breathless awe.
"A contest in weaving shall begin at once," declared the goddess.
Arachne's face flushed and then grew pale but she was not daunted. In her foolish pride she felt sure of victory.
Minerva now commanded that two looms be set up. In a few moments this was done; then each took her place and made ready by tying the web to the beam.
Now began the famous contest. With rare grace and ease the goddess and the maiden threw their swift shuttles. Silently the skilled weavers worked until each web was finished. Then Arachne glanced at her rival's marvelous web. The maiden never had dreamed of a vision so beautiful. Her heart sank, for, in a moment, she knew how foolish she had been to match her skill with Minerva's. Poor Arachne could not bear the great blow to her pride. In her grief she hung her head. But quickly Minerva sprinkled the maiden's body with magic juices and said, "Boastful Arachne, thou art now changed into a spider. Thou and thy descendants shall spin through the ages to come."
And there hanging to a slender thread was the first spider.
HOW THE SPIDER MAKES ITS WEB[[2]]
C. William Beebe
Nature has provided spiders with an organ filled always with liquid which, on being exposed to the air, hardens, and can be drawn out into the slender threads we know as cobwebs. The silk-worm encases its body with a mile or more of gleaming silk, but there its usefulness is ended as far as the silkworm is concerned. But spiders have found a hundred uses for their cordage, some of which are startlingly similar to human inventions.
Those spiders which burrow in the earth hang their tunnels with silken tapestries impervious to wet, which, at the same time, act as lining to the tube. Then the entrance may be a trap-door of soil and silk, hinged with strong silken threads; or in the turret spiders, which are found in our fields, there is reared a tiny tower of leaves or twigs bound together with silk. Who of us has not teased the inmate by pushing a bent straw into his stronghold and awaiting his furious onslaught upon the innocent stalk!
A list of all the uses of cobwebs would take more space than we can spare; but of these the most familiar is the snare set for unwary flies,—the wonderfully ingenious webs which sparkle with dew among the grasses or stretch from bush to bush. The framework is of strong webbing and upon this is closely woven the sticky spiral which is so elastic, so ethereal, and yet strong enough to entangle a good-sized insect. How knowing seems the little worker, as when, the web and his dew of concealment being completed, he spins a strong cable from the center of the web to the entrance of his watch-tower. Then, when a trembling of his aerial spans warn him of a capture, how eagerly he seizes his master cable and jerks away in it, thus vibrating the whole structure and making more certain the confusion of his victim.
What is more interesting than to see a great yellow garden-spider, hanging head downwards in the center of his web, when we approach too closely, instead of deserting his snare, set it vibrating back and forth so rapidly that he becomes a mere blur; a more certain method of escaping the onslaught of a bird than if he ran to the shelter of a leaf.
Those spiders which leap upon their prey instead of setting snares for it have still a use for their thready life, throwing out a cable as they leap, to break their fall if they miss their foothold. What a strange use of the cobweb is that of the little flying spiders! Up they run to the top of a post, elevate their abdomens and run out several threads which lengthen and lengthen until the breeze catches them and away go the wingless aeronauts for yards or for miles as fortune and wind and weather may dictate! We wonder if they can cut loose or pull in their balloon cables at will.
Many species of spiders spin a case for holding their eggs, and some carry this about with them until the young are hatched.
A most fascinating tale would unfold could we discover all the uses of cobweb when the spiders themselves are through with it. Certain it is that our ruby-throated humming bird robs many webs to fasten together the plant down, wood pulp, and lichens which compose her dainty nest.
Search the pond and you will find another member of the spider family swimming about at ease beneath the surface, thoroughly aquatic in habits, but breathing a bubble of air which he carries about with him. When his supply is low he swims to a submarine castle of silk, so air-tight that he can keep it filled with a large bubble of air, upon which he draws from time to time.
And so we might go on enumerating almost endless uses for the web which is Nature's gifts to these little waifs, who ages ago left the sea and have won a place for themselves in the sunshine among the butterflies and flowers.
THE FAIRY SPINNER
(SOUTHERN TALE)
Many years ago there lived at a swamp's edge a tiny fairy who occupied her time in spinning, and made the most beautiful and delicate fabrics imaginable.
Her wheel whirled so fast that it was nothing but a blur such as a fly's wings make when he is tangled in a flower, and her spindle was the sting of a bumble-bee—her uncle—who had left it to her, for any good use in amends for a life so grouchy that none of the other creatures would have anything to do with him.
Still, one inhabitant of the swamp was worse than the bee, and the fairy was mightily disturbed when she discovered that he had taken up his abode in the very next bush. He was an enormous spider, big as a bird and hideously gorgeous with red, blue, and yellow. He took some pride in himself as a spinner, but when he saw the shining tissue that the fairy was weaving he realized that his own art was cheap and poor in comparison and he was jealous and determined to destroy her. She caught up her wheel and spindle and ran with the spider in pursuit. She asked the mouse for shelter, but he was afraid, and shut the door. She begged the toad to protect her, but he only ran out his tongue. Finally a fire-fly came along, with his lantern lit. He saw the fairy; he saw the spider, and, calling to the fairy to follow, he flew with her across the field, lighting the way, for it was now night. They soon reached a bush which bore a handsome pink blossom.
"Jump into the flower," commanded the fire-fly. Still clutching her wheel, the fairy put her last strength into a spring and alighted in the heart of the blossom. The spider was close upon her, but as he put his ugly claw on the lower petal to draw himself up after her, she gave him such a stab in the leg with her spindle that he lost his hold and fell to the ground. In another second the flower closed over the fairy, gathering its petals so tightly that the spider could not get in. He wove his web about it, believing that he would catch her when she ventured out in the morning. But when morning came she did not appear. The spider kept watch, but finally the petals dropped to the earth and when he saw no fairy he knew it was all up, so he bit his own body and died. But the fairy was not dead. She remained snuggled in the little ball that the plant put out behind the blossom and in a few days the ball opened and all the beautiful fabric she had been spinning while in hiding poured out in a tassel of snowy white. And men wove the threads to make garments for themselves, and they bless the fairy of the cotton plant and are glad when she escapes the weevil as well as the spider.
MOTHER SPIDER
Frances Gillespy Wickes
It was a beautiful day in midsummer. The meadow was alive with busy little people astir in the bright sunlight. A long line of ants came crawling down the path carrying provisions to their home under the elm tree; and an old toad came hopping down through the grass, blinking in the warm sun. Just a little higher up the bees were droning drowsily as they flew from flower to flower; and above them all, seeming almost in the blue sky, a robin was calling to his mate.
Pretty soon Mrs. Spider came down the path. She seemed to be in a great hurry. She looked neither to the right nor to the left, but kept straight ahead, holding tightly to a little white bag which she carried in her mouth. She was just rushing past Mr. Toad when a big black beetle came humping by, stumbled against Mrs. Spider, and knocked the bag out of her mouth.
In an instant Mrs. Spider pounced down upon him, and, though he was so much bigger than she, he tumbled over on his back. While he was trying to kick himself right side up once more, Mrs. Spider made a quick little dash, took up her bag, and scuttled off through the grass.
"Well, I never," said Grasshopper Green, who was playing see-saw on a blade of grass.
"No, nor I," grumbled Mr. Beetle, as he wriggled back to his feet. "I didn't want her bag. She needn't have made such a fuss."
"She must have had something very fine in that bag," said Grasshopper Green, "for she was so frightened when she dropped it. I wonder what it was"—and he balanced himself on his grass blade until a stray breeze blew him off, and then he straightway forgot about Mrs. Spider altogether.
Two weeks after this Grasshopper Green started out for a little exercise after breakfast. Just as he reached the edge of the brook he saw Mrs. Spider coming toward him. She was moving quite slowly, and no longer carried the little white bag. As she came nearer, he could see that she had something on her back.
"Good morning, neighbor," called Grasshopper Green. "May I help you carry your things?" "Thank you," she said, "but they wouldn't stay with you, even if they could stay on when you give such great jumps."
"They!" cried Grasshopper Green. And then, as he came nearer, he saw that the things on Mrs. Spider's back were wee little baby spiders.
"Aren't they pretty children?" she asked proudly. "I was so afraid that something would happen to my eggs that I never let go of the bag once, except when that stupid Mr. Beetle knocked it out of my mouth."
"Oh, ho," said Grasshopper Green, "so that was what frightened you so! Your bag was full of eggs! And, now, you are going to carry all these children on your back? Doesn't it tire you dreadfully?"
"I don't mind that a bit," said Mrs. Spider, "if only the children are well and safe. In a little while, you know, they will be able to run about by themselves, and then we shall be so happy here in the meadow grass. Oh, it's well worth the trouble, neighbor Grasshopper."
"Yes," said Grasshopper Green, "I have a dozen wee boys of my own at home; and that reminds me that it is time to go home to breakfast! Good-bye, neighbor. I hope the children will soon be running about with you. You certainly are taking good care of them. Good-bye."
Then home he went; and the proud, happy mother Spider kept on her way to hunt for a breakfast for the babies she loved so well.