f gracefulness, is a satin bag, shaped like a tiny pear.
Its neck ends in a concave mouthpiece closed with a lid, also of satin.
Brown ribbons, in fanciful meridian waves, adorn the object from pole to
pole.

Open the nest. We have seen, in an earlier chapter, {28} what we find
there; let us retell the story. Under the outer wrapper, which is as
stout as our woven stuffs and, moreover, perfectly waterproof, is a
russet eiderdown of exquisite delicacy, a silky fluff resembling driven
smoke. Nowhere does mother-love prepare a softer bed.

In the middle of this downy mass hangs a fine, silk, thimble-shaped
purse, closed with a movable lid. This contains the eggs, of a pretty
orange-yellow and about five hundred in number.

All things considered, is not this charming edifice an animal fruit, a
germ-casket, a capsule to be compared with that of the plants? Only, the
Epeira's wallet, instead of seeds, holds eggs. The difference is more
apparent than real, for egg and grain are one.

How will this living fruit, ripening in the heat beloved of the Cicadae,
manage to burst? How, above all, will dissemination take place? They
are there in their hundreds. They must separate, go far away, isolate
themselves in a spot where there is not too much fear of competition
among neighbours. How will they set to work to achieve this distant
exodus, weaklings that they are, taking such very tiny steps?

I receive the first answer from another and much earlier Epeira, whose
family I find, at the beginning of May, on a yucca in the enclosure. The
plant blossomed last year. The branching flower-stem, some three feet
high, still stands erect, though withered. On the green leaves, shaped
like a sword-blade, swarm two newly-hatched families. The wee beasties
are a dull yellow, with a triangular black patch upon their stern. Later
on, three white crosses, ornamenting the back, will tell me that my find
corresponds with the Cross or Diadem Spider (_Epeira diadema_, WALCK.).

When the sun reaches this part of the enclosure, one of the two groups
falls into a great state of flutter. Nimble acrobats that they are, the
little Spiders scramble up, one after the other, and reach the top of the
stem. Here, marches and countermarches, tumult and confusion reign, for
there is a slight breeze which throws the troop into disorder. I see no
connected manoeuvres. From the top of the stalk they set out at every
moment, one by one; they dart