"She ate her husband on Wednesday and she ate her mother last year," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "Sing to me, or that terrible woman will be the death of me!"
But the reed-warbler himself was so frightened that he could not get out a note. And the spider did not care in the least.
"Yes ... mother," she said. "That was only out of hunger. I didn't eat her alone, either. My brothers and sisters shared in the feast. We were famishing and there was nothing else to eat, for it was well in the autumn. Then mother came along, just in the nick of time, and so we ate her."
She jumped into the water again.
But Mrs. Reed-Warbler did not sleep a wink that night. She kept on whispering to herself:
"She ate her mother ... she ate her husband on Wednesday...."
"Come, don't think about it," said the reed-warbler. "Why, your own mother was eaten by the hawk; and, if you eat me, it will be for love!"
"You ought to be ashamed to jest in such times as these," said she.
"I think all times are alike," he said. "Those we live in always seem the worst."