wn silk, not worked into
a fabric this time, but puffed into an extra-fine wadding. It is a
fleecy cloud, an incomparable quilt, softer than any swan's-down. This
is the screen set up against loss of heat.

And what does this cosy mass protect? See: in the middle of the
eiderdown hangs a cylindrical pocket, round at the bottom, cut square at
the top and closed with a padded lid. It is made of extremely fine
satin; it contains the Epeira's eggs, pretty little orange-coloured
beads, which, glued together, form a globule the size of a pea. This is
the treasure to be defended against the asperities of the winter.

Now that we know the structure of the work, let us try to see in what
manner the spinstress sets about it. The observation is not an easy one,
for the Banded Epeira is a night-worker. She needs nocturnal quiet in
order not to go astray amid the complicated rules that guide her
industry. Now and again, at very early hours in the morning, I have
happened to catch her working, which enables me to sum up the progress of
the operations.

My subjects are busy in their bell-shaped cages, at about the middle of
August. A scaffolding is first run up, at the top of the dome; it
consists of a few stretched threads. The wire trellis represents the
twigs and the blades of grass which the Spider, if at liberty, would have
used as suspension-points. The loom works on this shaky support. The
Epeira does not see what she is doing; she turns her back on her task.
The machinery is so well put together that the whole thing goes
automatically.

The tip of the abdomen sways, a little to the right, a little to the
left, rises and falls, while the Spider moves slowly round and round. The
thread paid out is single. The hind-legs draw it out and place it in
position on that which is already done. Thus is formed a satin
receptacle the rim of which is gradually raised until it becomes a bag
about a centimetre deep. {19} The texture is of the daintiest. Guy-ropes
bind it to the nearest threads and keep it stretched, especially at the
mouth.

Then the spinnerets take a rest and the turn of the ovaries comes. A
continuous shower of eggs falls into the bag, which is filled to the top.
The capacity of the receptacle has been so nicely calculated that there
is room for all the eggs, without leaving any space unoccupied. When the
Spider has finished and retires, I catch a momentary glimpse of the heap
of orange-coloured egg