iving plumb-line, of which my lantern clearly shows me the plumb,
but not always the line. The great squab seems at such times to be
sprawling in space, without the least support.

She comes to an abrupt stop two inches from the ground; the silk-reel
ceases working. The Spider turns round, clutches the line which she has
just obtained and climbs up by this road, still spinning. But, this
time, as she is no longer assisted by the force of gravity, the thread is
extracted in another manner. The two hind-legs, with a quick alternate
action, draw it from the wallet and let it go.

On returning to her starting-point, at a height of six feet or more, the
Spider is now in possession of a double line, bent into a loop and
floating loosely in a current of air. She fixes her end where it suits
her and waits until the other end, wafted by the wind, has fastened its
loop to the adjacent twigs.

The desired result may be very slow in coming. It does not tire the
unfailing patience of the Epeira, but it soon wears out mine. And it has
happened to me sometimes to collaborate with the Spider. I pick up the
floating loop with a straw and lay it on a branch, at a convenient
height. The foot-bridge erected with my assistance is considered
satisfactory, just as though the wind had placed it. I count this
collaboration among the good actions standing to my credit.

Feeling her thread fixed, the Epeira runs along it repeatedly, from end
to end, adding a fibre to it on each journey. Whether I help or not,
this forms the 'suspension-cable,' the main piece of the framework. I
call it a cable, in spite of its extreme thinness, because of its
structure. It looks as though it were single, but, at the two ends, it
is seen to divide and spread, tuft-wise, into numerous constituent parts,
which are the product of as many crossings. These diverging fibres, with
their several contact-points, increase the steadiness of the two
extremities.

The suspension-cable is incomparably stronger than the rest of the work
and lasts for an indefinite time. The web is generally shattered after
the night's hunting and is nearly always rewoven on the following
evening. After the removal of the wreckage, it is made all over again,
on the same site, cleared of everything except the cable from which the
new network is to hang.

The laying of this cable is a somewhat difficult matter, because the
success of the enterprise does not depend upon the ani