W. V.«.

spider hanging out in his web in the sun,
like a grim old fisherman floating in the
midst of his nets at sea. A hand’s breadth
off, young bees and new-born flies were busy
with the low perennial sunflowers ; he watch-
ing them motionlessly, with his gruesome
shadow silhouetted on a leaf hard by. In
his immediate neighbourhood the fine threads
of his web were invisible, but a little distance
away one could distinguish their concentric
curves, grey on green. Every now and then
we heard the snapping of a stalk overhead,
and a leaf pattered down from the limes.
Every now and then, too, slight suzges of
breeze run shivering through the branches.
Nothing distracted the intense vigilance of
the crafty fisherman. Scores of glimmering
insects grazed the deadly snare, but none
touched it. It must have been tantalising,
but the creature’s sullen patience was invinci-
ble. W. V. at last dropped a piece of leaf-
stalk on his web, out of curiosity. In a
twinkling he was at the spot, and the frag-
ment was dislodged with a single jerk.

This is one of the things in which she
delights — the quiet observation of the ways

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