bin redbreast, filling
the woods with joy. Maya could see it perched on a branch, could
see its throat swell and pulse with the song as it held its
little head raised up to the light.

"If only I could sing like that robin redbreast," she said, "I'd
perch on a flower and keep it up the livelong day."

"You'd produce something lovely, you would, with your humming
and buzzing."

"The bird looks so happy."

"You have great fancies," said the daddy-long-legs. "Supposing
every animal were to wish he could do something that nature had
not fitted him to do, the world would be all topsy-turvy.
Supposing a robin redbreast thought he had to have a sting--a
sting above everything else--or a goat wanted to fly about
gathering honey. Supposing a frog were to come along and
languish for my kind of legs."

Maya laughed.

"That isn't just what I mean. I mean, it seems lovely to be able
to make all beings as happy as the bird does with his song.-- But
goodness gracious!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Mr. Hannibal, you
have one leg too many."

Hannibal frowned and looked into space, vexed.

"Well, you've noticed it," he said glumly. "But as a matter of
fact--one leg too few, not too many."

"Why? Do you usually have eight legs?"

"Permit me to explain. We spiders have eight legs. We need them
all. Besides, eight is a more aristocratic number. One of my
legs got lost. Too bad about it. However you manage, you make
the best of it."

"It must be dreadfully disagreeable to lose a leg," Maya
sympathized.

Hannibal propped his chin on his hand and arranged his legs to
keep them from being easily counted.

"I'll tell you how it happened. Of course, as usual when there's
mischief, a human being is mixed up in it. We spiders are
careful and look what we're doing, but human beings are
careless, they grab you sometimes as though you were a piece of
wood. Shall I tell you?"

"Oh, do please," said Maya, settling herself comfortably. "It
would be awfully interesting. You must certainly have gone
through a good deal."

"I should say so," said Hannibal. "Now listen. We daddy-long-legs,
you know, hunt by night. I was then living in a green garden-house.
It was overgrown with ivy, and there were a number of broken
window-panes, which made it very convenient for me to crawl
in and out. The man came at dark. In one hand he carried
his artificial sun, which he calls lamp, in the other hand
a small bottle, under his arm some paper, and in