Hour after hour she toiled, tier after tier she added, gluing each pellet firmly to the last, yet leaving open space between each junction. So rose a filagree tube of sand, so fragile that a touch would crumble it; so strong that it would bear four times her weight. Before a shadow reached the cliff, it was a half-inch high. But shadows meant an end to the day's work, and Spinipes crept down below and slept.
The morning sun had shone four hours before she stirred. She peered out round-eyed from her tower, and, twisting on the rim of it, hung for a while head-downwards. A flash of green and crimson light, and something settled under her. It was the Jewel Fly again.
"Fine progress, Madam, and a first-rate tower. I never saw a better."
No word said Spinipes, but straightway launched, and flew at her.
"Out, cuckoo-sneak!" she screamed. "Out! or I sting!"
The Jewel Fly dodged like a gnat, and vanished round the corner.
She certainly meant mischief.
The lowest chamber of the shaft now held a precious thing—a spindle-shaped gold egg, slung to the side-wall by a silken thread. Back darted Spinipes to look at it; and test the fine-spun sling again; and fuss with it; and feel that it was hers.
The lowest chamber of the shaft now held a precious thing