They all saw how she pulled a multitude of very fine threads at a time from her abdomen. Then she began to unravel them with combs which she had at the ends of her legs, twisted them together into one thick thread and hung it beside the others where she thought that the opening was too large or the net not strong enough. All the threads were greasy and sticky, so that the flies would have to hang fast in them. Later in the day, the web was ready; and they all admired it because it was so pretty.
“Now I’m settled,” said the spider.
At that moment came a starling and sat on the top of one of the long twigs:
“Is there nothing to eat here?” he asked. “A few grubs? A spider or so?”
The goat’s-foot and the parsley said nothing: they almost withered with fright at the idea of losing their lodger. The mouse made off, for safety’s sake, but the twigs on the stubs cried with one breath that a nice fat spider had just come and had spun her web in the night.
“I can see none,” said the starling and flew away.
But the spider, quick as lightning, had let herself down to the ground by a long thread and lay there as still as if she were dead. Now she crept up again and sat in the middle of her web with all her eight legs outstretched.
“That was a near thing,” she said. “Now my turn’s coming.”
Up came a smart little fly, who didn’t see the web but flew in and got caught, poor fellow.