“It is a bird,” said the parsley and the goat’s-foot, enraptured.
“A bird doesn’t hang in the middle of the air, sleeping,” said the twigs.
“It’s an elf,” said the mouse, who came up at that moment. “Just wait till it’s quite light: then perhaps we shall see.”
And, when the sun rose, they saw.
In between the branches of the goat’s-foot and the fool’s-parsley were stretched a number of very fine threads, which crossed one another and shone in the sun so that it was a delight to see. Other threads ran across them in circles, one outside the other.
“Ah!” said the mouse. “Now I understand. She was sitting in the middle of that. But where has she gone to now?”
“Here I am,” said the spider, from under a leaf. “I can’t stand the bright sunlight. What do you think of my work? But I haven’t finished yet.”
“Pish!” said the mouse. “Frankly speaking, I think it’s a funny sort of nest you’ve made.”
“Nest, nest, nest!” said the spider. “It’s you who’ve been talking of a nest, not I. You keep on taking it for granted that I am a silly, effeminate woman like yourself and the others. What use is a nest to me? I’m all right here under this leaf. It’s shady here and good enough for me. The threads are my web. I catch flies in it. I wonder, shall we have a little rain? Then I can set to again and finish my work.”
Presently, the sun disappeared behind the clouds. A mild and gentle rain fell and when it stopped the spider came out and stretched her eight legs contentedly in the moist air.