tful distance, but
with the extreme end of one of the beautiful, red striped legs it
gave the bee a little push, so that it swung round in the web. When
the bee had again buzzed and raged itself tired, it received
another gentle shove, and then another and yet another, until it
spun round like a top and did not know what it was doing in its
fury, and became so confused that it could not defend itself. But
during the whirling the threads that held it fast twisted ever more
tightly, till the tension became so great that they broke, and the
bee fell to the ground. Yes, that was what the spider had wished,
of course.

And that performance could they repeat, those two, day after day as
long as the bee had work in the rose-bushes. Never could the little
bee learn to look out for the spider-web, and never did the spider
show anger or impatience. I liked them both; the little, eager,
furry worker, as well as the big, crafty, old hunter.

Very few great events happened in the garden of the climbing roses.
Between the espaliers one could see the little lake lying and
twinkling in the sunlight. And it was a lake which was too little
and too shut in to be able to heave in real waves, but at every
little ripple on the gray surface thousands of small sparkles that
glistened and played on the waves flew up; it seemed as if its
depths had been full of fire that could not get out. And it was the
same with the summer life there; it was usually so quiet, but if
there came the slightest, little ripple--oh, how it could shine
and glitter!

We needed nothing great to make us happy. A flower or a bird could
make us merry for several hours, not to speak of the upholsterer
bee. I shall never forget what pleasure I had once on his account.

The bee had been in the spider-web as usual, and the spider had as
usual helped him out; but it had been fastened so securely that it
had had to buzz a dreadfully long time and had been very tamed and
subdued when it had flown away. I bent forward to see if the
spider-web had suffered much damage. Fortunately it had not; but on
the other hand a little yellow larva was caught in the web, a
little threadlike monster, which consisted of only jaws and claws,
and I was agitated, really agitated, at the sight of it.

I knew them, those May-bug larvae, that in thousands crawl up on
the flowers and hide themselves under their petals. Did I not know
them and yet admire them, those bold, cunning parasites, that