"And I also," echoed the Cricket.
"But what is it?" chimed in the eager Saucepan, by this time quite interested in the Spider's narrative.
"I will tell you," pursued the Spider. "The ant-lion is a beautiful kind of insect, resembling the dragon-fly in its larval or imperfect state. It feeds chiefly upon active insects; and, as it is too slow of motion to catch them otherwise, it resorts to a very clever expedient,—it makes all food come within reach; thus saving a world of trouble. The head is furnished with a pair of long, curved mandibles, which gives to the inner jaws a free play. The grub makes a pitfall to entrap any passing prey, by tracing a shallow trench, the circle varying from one to two inches in diameter. It then makes another round, starting just within the first circle; and so it proceeds, continually scooping up the sand with its head, and jerking it outside the trench. By continuing this process, always tracing smaller and smaller circles, the ant-lion at last completes a conical pit, buries itself in the sand, and waits.
"Like many another inquisitive ant, beetle, or spider, I went along to the edge of the pit, and peeped in to see what it might contain, when to my horror the sand gave way, and I slid down, down, almost into the jaws opened wide to receive me. I turned faint with fright for a moment; then strength returned, and I scrambled up the side again. This was not easy, as may be imagined: the sand loosened more and more every step I took, and, even faster than I showered it down, the ant-lion flung it back, endeavoring to keep the sides steep, and prevent my escape.
"I just struggled to the brink, when who should come to my assistance but the good-hearted Harvest-mouse, who had witnessed the whole affair from her overhanging nest. She kindly extended her long tail for my benefit, which I eagerly clutched, and so was dragged out alive.
"Ugh! I never see a dragon-fly floating along, without thinking of that dreadful pit where the ant-lion lurked in waiting for victims. I felt too much exhausted to move after that, and, while in so miserably helpless a state, a bird snapped me up, to carry me through the air by three legs, as food for the young birds. They were very hungry,—children generally are,—but they would not give me so much as a peck of their greedy bills.
"'Why did you not bring a nice, fat-bodied garden-spider, while you were about it?' said the robin-mother reproachfully.
"I was then flung out of the nest, and fortunately caught upon a projecting twig as I fell. I hid under a leaf to rest awhile, congratulating myself that I was so rough and ugly.
"Several pretty young squirrels were whisking about the branches, while their parents gravely watched their sports with tails curled up over their backs in repose; or joined in the fun, chasing to loftier perches, where it made me giddy to watch them swaying about, and leaping from tree to tree, then returning to my immediate vicinity again.
"'Do you live out here?' I inquired, going towards them.