hout her losing her head for such a trifle. She would
calmly go on with her web.

Let us return to the Spider manufacturing her net under the usual
tranquil conditions. The great spiral has been finished, abruptly, on
the confines of the resting-floor. The central cushion, a mat of ends of
saved thread, is next pulled up and eaten. But, before indulging in this
mouthful, which closes the proceedings, two Spiders, the only two of the
order, the Banded and the Silky Epeira, have still to sign their work. A
broad, white ribbon is laid, in a thick zigzag, from the centre to the
lower edge of the orb. Sometimes, but not always, a second band of the
same shape and of lesser length occupies the upper portion, opposite the
first.

I like to look upon these odd flourishes as consolidating-gear. To begin
with, the young Epeirae never use them. For the moment, heedless of the
future and lavish of their silk, they remake their web nightly, even
though it be none too much dilapidated and might well serve again. A
brand-new snare at sunset is the rule with them. And there is little
need for increased solidity when the work has to be done again on the
morrow.

On the other hand, in the late autumn, the full-grown Spiders, feeling
laying-time at hand, are driven to practise economy, in view of the great
expenditure of silk required for the egg-bag. Owing to its large size,
the net now becomes a costly work which it were well to use as long as
possible, for fear of finding one's reserves exhausted when the time
comes for the expensive construction of the nest. For this reason, or
for others which escape me, the Banded and the Silky Epeirae think it
wise to produce durable work and to strengthen their toils with a cross-
ribbon. The other Epeirae, who are put to less expense in the
fabrication of their maternal wallet--a mere pill--are unacquainted with
the zigzag binder and, like the younger Spiders, reconstruct their web
almost nightly.

My fat neighbour, the Angular Epeira, consulted by the light of a
lantern, shall tell us how the renewal of the net proceeds. As the
twilight fades, she comes down cautiously from her day-dwelling; she
leaves the foliage of the cypresses for the suspension-cable of her
snare. Here she stands for some time; then, descending to her web, she
collects the wreckage in great armfuls. Everything--spiral, spokes and
frame--is raked up with her legs. One thing alone is spared and that is
t