[1] Cf. The Life of the Spider: chap. xvi.—Translator’s Note. [↑]
[2] Cf. The Life of the Spider: chap. xv.—Translator’s Note. [↑]
Man is like the medlar: he is worth nothing
Unless he has ripened long in the granary, on the straw.
CHAPTER VI
THE KERMES OF THE OAK[1]
The nest, that notable expression of maternal skill and care, is rivalled by other modes of rearing which often reveal the most wonderful tenderness. The Lycosa drags behind her, hanging to her spinnerets, the wallet of eggs that bangs against her legs; and for half the year she carries about on her back her young, fore-gathered in a serried group. In like fashion does the Scorpion nurse her offspring on her back; for a fortnight she allows them to gather strength against the moment of emancipation. Exuding a white wax, the Dorthesia contrives at the tip of the abdomen an exquisite [[312]]muff into which the young are born, and in which they adorn themselves with cottony tufts and peacefully grow ripe for the exodus. The downy refuge, with its narrow opening, allows the secluded offspring to emerge, one by one, as they become capable of settling down upon the fostering spurge.