“Perhaps your husband’s bringing it?” asked the parsley.
“I have no husband, thank goodness!” said the spider.
“Poor thing!” said the mouse, who sat listening. “That must be awfully sad for you.”
“Ah, there’s the usual feminine balderdash!” said the spider. “That’s what makes us women such ridiculous and contemptible creatures. It’s always ‘my husband’ here and ‘my husband’ there. I should like to know what use a husband is to one, when all’s said. He’s nothing but a nuisance and a worry. If ever I take another, he sha’n’t live with me, whatever happens.”
“How you talk!” said the mouse. “I can’t think of anything more dismal than if my husband were to live away from me. And I should like to know how I should manage with the children, if he didn’t help me, the dear soul!”
“Children!” replied the spider. “Fiddle-de-dee! I don’t see the use of all that coddling. Lay your eggs in a sensible place and then leave them alone.”
“She doesn’t talk like a bird,” said the parsley, doubtfully.
“I too am beginning to be uneasy about her,” said the goat’s-foot.
“You can call me what you like,” said the spider. “In any case, I don’t associate with the other birds. If there are too many of them here, I won’t even stay.”
“Lord preserve us!” said the parsley, who began to fear lest she should go away. “There are hardly ever any here.”