ieties will
even turn out as many as six hundred and twenty-five yards. But that is
a high figure. They usually average less."

"It is all wonderful, isn't it?" replied Madame Bretton. "And to think
these tiny creatures are responsible for the silk the whole world uses!"

"I know it," agreed Josef. "Of course there are other spinners in the
universe, however. The spider, for example, is a most industrious
spinner, and I have read that in the past scientists tried to see if
some of the larger spiders could not be utilized for silk-making. The
velvety pouch, or bag, was removed and by some skilful process the
greyish thread inside it was carded off. But the experiment was
unsuccessful, for the silk thus made was far less firm and strong than
that which came from the silkworm. After this failure another set of men
tried to make silk by using the filament of the pinna."

"What is a pinna, Josef?" questioned Marie.

"The pinna is a variety of shell-fish not unlike the mussel; it fastens
itself to the rocks and from between its shells gives out threads
something like those of the spider or silkworm. By means of them it
spins a tough fibre by which it joins itself to any object to which it
wishes to cling."

"And did they succeed in making pinna silk, Josef?" demanded Marie
eagerly.

"They certainly did!" nodded Josef. "Along the Mediterranean were
several places where they manufactured pinna thread. They even spun some
fine, silky fabrics from it. But they never could get enough of the
filament to make the industry practical, although in 1754 they did send
to Pope Benedict XIV some stockings made from pinna silk. They were spun
from very fine thread, and were so closely woven and so hot that I doubt
if he cared to wear them unless in cool weather. Since then the weaving
of pinna silk has been abandoned, although now and then one sees bits of
it in some old fabric, or on exhibition somewhere. It is chiefly
regarded as a curiosity."

"What a lot you know, Josef!" murmured Marie, astonished.

Josef laughed.

"I just happened to see that in a book your father gave me," he said.
"It interested me because it told of something I wanted to learn about.
I don't care for reading as a rule. Most books are about things I never
heard of and are no use to me."

"But don't you like to learn about new things?" inquired Marie.

"Why, no, I don't think I do. What good is it?" interrogated the old
servant. "I'm not ever going out