"Yes, what a number of spiders there must be to cause such an appearance," answered Frank. "It always puzzles me how those spiders move about—and how is it that on some mornings they appear in such immense quantities, while on the next morning, perhaps, not one will be seen?"
"I think they are always there," replied Dick, "but they are only visible when the dew is falling heavily, and wetting them so that they become visible. In the clear air, too, the sun will dry them so that we shall not be able to see them; but they will be there all the same. Let us gather a bunch of rushes with a lot of them on and examine them."
He did so, and they saw great numbers of tiny spiders gliding about their tiny webs. By and by, as they watched them, the little spiders shot out long silvery threads, which floated out to leeward, and then the spiders let go their hold and launched themselves into the air, and were borne away by the faint south wind.
"Oh, so that is the secret of their wandering, is it? Don't you wish you could send a long floating thread from your stomach, Jimmy, and sail away over the marshes? It would be as good as having wings."
"Don't be so absurd, Frank."
A wherry was being pushed up the stream by its two stalwart boatmen, by the process known in Norfolk as quanting. The men placed their long poles or quants into the river at the bow of the wherry, and, placing their shoulders against them, walked to the stern, propelling the boat along with their feet. By this laborious method, when the wind fails them, do the wherrymen work their craft to their destination. As they passed the yacht, one of them cried out—
"We have got no matches, guv'nor. Can you give us some?"
"Certainly," replied Frank; and diving into the cabin, he returned with a handful. These he handed to the wherryman, who thanked him and passed on. The man stopped quanting and tried to strike a match by rubbing it on the sole of his shoe. It failed to ignite, and he threw it down. Another met with the same fate, and another also. Then he tried striking them on wood, then on iron, then on his rough jacket, but all to no purpose, and they could see him trying one after another, and throwing them down with every symptom of disgust.
"Why, Frank, those matches strike only on the box," said Dick.
"I know that," replied Frank, laughing quietly.