might go on enumerating almost endless uses for the web which is
Nature's gift to these little waifs, who ages ago left the sea and have
won a place for themselves in the sunshine among the butterflies and
flowers.

* * * * *

In the balsam-perfumed shade of our northern forests we may sometimes find
growing in abundance the tiny white dwarf cornel, or bunch-berry, as its
later cluster of scarlet fruit makes the more appropriate name. These
miniature dogwood blossoms (or imitation blossoms, as the white divisions
are not real petals) are very conspicuous against the dark moss, and many
insects seem to seek them out and to find it worth while to visit them. If
we look very carefully we may find that this discovery is not original
with us, for a little creature has long ago found out the fondness of bees
and other insects for these flowers and has put his knowledge to good
use.

One day I saw what I thought was a swelling on one part of the flower, but
a closer look showed it was a living spider. Here was protective colouring
carried to a wonderful degree. The body of the spider was white and
glistening, like the texture of the white flower on which he rested. On
his abdomen were two pink, oblong spots of the same tint and shape as the
pinkened tips of the false petals. Only by an accident could he be
discovered by a bird, and when I focussed my camera, I feared that the
total lack of contrast would make the little creature all but invisible.

Confident with the instinct handed down through many generations, the
spider trusted implicitly to his colour for safety and never moved, though
I placed the lens so close that it threw a life-sized image on the
ground-glass. When all was ready, and before I had pressed the bulb, the
thought came to me whether this wonderful resemblance should be attributed
to the need of escaping from insectivorous birds, or to the increased
facility with which the spider would be able to catch its prey. At the
very instant of making the exposure, before I could will the stopping of
the movement of my fingers, if I had so wished, my question was answered.
A small, iridescent, green bee flew down, like a spark of living light,
upon the flower, and, quick as thought, was caught in the jaws of the
spider. Six of his eight legs were not brought into use, but were held far
back out of the way.

Here, on my lens, I had a little tragedy of the forest preserv