The Pond Part 4

"And you say that one ought to eat one's parents?" asked Mrs.

Reed-Warbler.

"Maybe that was a rather free way of talking to a bird," said the spider. "What suits one doesn't necessarily suit another. I only know that I ate my mother last year and a fine, fat, old lady she was."

"Sing to me, or I'll die!" screamed Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

Her husband sang. And, meanwhile, they looked down at the water-spider.

She plunged head foremost into the water. For a moment, she let her abdomen float on the surface of the pond and distended her spinnerets till they were full of air. Then the creature sank and shone like silver as she glided down to the bottom.

"That's very, very pretty," said the reed-warbler.

"Be quiet," said his wife and stared till she nearly strained her neck.

Deep down in a bush, the spider had spun a bell, which she filled with air. The bell was built of the finest yarn that she was able to supply and fastened on every side with strong, fine threads, so that it could not float away. And round about it was a big web for catching insects.... Just now a water-mite was hanging in it and the spider took her into the bell and sucked her out.

"It's really remarkable," said little Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "She has a nest just as we have, hung up between the reeds. For all we know, she may sit on her eggs."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Ask her," said the reed-warbler.

"I want first to get to the bottom of that story about her mother," said she, sternly.

Soon after, the spider came up again and sat on the leaf of the water-lily and smoothed herself out.

"You were looking down at me, weren't you?" she said. "Yes ... I have quite a nice place, haven't I? A regular smart little parlour. You must know I am an animal that loves fresh air, like Mr. Reed-Warbler and yourself. And, as my business happens to lie in the water, it was easiest for me to arrange it this way. It's thoroughly cosy down there, I a.s.sure you. And, in the winter, I lock the door and sleep and snore the whole day long."

"Have you any eggs?" asked Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Rather!" said the spider. "I have everything that belongs to a well-regulated household. I have any number of eggs. As I lay them, by degrees, I hang them up in bundles from the ceiling of my parlour."

"Don't you hatch them?"

"No, dear lady. My heart is not so warm as that. And it's not necessary either. They come out nicely by themselves."

"Did your husband help you build the parlour?" asked Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"He had enough to do building for himself, the b.o.o.by!" she said. "You needn't think I would have him in my parlour, He made himself a little room beside it; and then there was the tunnel between us and that was really more than enough."

"_Was?_" asked Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "Is he no longer with you, then?...

Oh, you mustn't take my question amiss, if it pains you. I find it so difficult to understand the domestic conditions of the lower cla.s.ses....

Perhaps you don't even know where he is?"

"Why, I should just think I did know!" replied the spider. "More or less. For I ate him last Wednesday."

"Goodness gracious me!" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"He was in my way," said the spider. "I tumbled over him wherever I went. And what was I to do with him? So I ate him up; and a tough little brute he was!"

"She ate her husband on Wednesday and she ate her mother last year,"

said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "Sing to me, or that terrible woman will be the death of me!"

But the reed-warbler himself was so frightened that he could not get out a note. And the spider did not care in the least.

"Yes ... mother," she said. "That was only out of hunger. I didn't eat her alone, either. My brothers and sisters shared in the feast. We were famis.h.i.+ng and there was nothing else to eat, for it was well in the autumn. Then mother came along, just in the nick of time, and so we ate her."

She jumped into the water again.

But Mrs. Reed-Warbler did not sleep a wink that night. She kept on whispering to herself:

"She ate her mother ... she ate her husband on Wednesday...."

"Come, don't think about it," said the reed-warbler. "Why, your own mother was eaten by the hawk; and, if you eat me, it will be for love!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'HE WAS IN MY WAY,' SAID THE SPIDER]

"You ought to be ashamed to jest in such times as these," said she.

"I think all times are alike," he said. "Those we live in always seem the worst."

Then morning came and the sun shone and he sang to his little brown wife until she recovered her spirits.

CHAPTER V

The Bladder-Wort

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Little Mrs. Reed-Warbler's babies were now expected any day.

There was no end to her nervousness and unreasonableness. Her husband simply could not satisfy her. If he brought her a fly, she shook her head and asked how could he think her capable of eating immediately before the most important event in her life. If he brought her none, she said it was evidently his intention to starve her. If he sang, it was unbearable to listen to him. If he was silent, she could plainly see that he no longer cared for her.

"You don't appreciate me as I deserve," he said. "You ought to be married to the eel for a bit, or to the cray-fish's husband; then you would know what's what."

"And you ought to have taken the spider," said she. "Then you would have been eaten."

"Dear lady! Dear lady!" cried the cray-fish from down in the mud.

"Well?" said the reed-warbler.

"I can't stand this!" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"I only wanted to ask you, dear lady, not to forget me and those sh.e.l.ls," said the cray-fish.