The Spider, and Other Tales

“Pray take a look round,” said the parsley. “If you like us, build your nest in us. All that we can offer you is at your service.”

“Don’t believe them,” said the real bushes. “They only make a show while summer lasts. When autumn comes, they are gone without leaving a trace behind them.”

“I don’t know anything about autumn,” said the parsley.

“I don’t believe in autumn,” said the goat’s-foot. “It’s a cock-and-bull story with which they take in the baby bushes.”

“Autumn exists all right,” said the mouse. “And after that comes winter. Then the thing is to have one’s larder full. It’s well I thought of it. I think I will dig myself a little hole between the stones and begin laying up.”

“Let him burrow in the ground that pleases,” said the parsley.

“We have loftier aims,” said the goat’s-foot.

Then they stood a bit and said nothing. And then the parsley sighed and said what they were both thinking.

“If only a bird would come and build her nest in us!”

“We would shade it and rock it and take such care of it that the real bushes would die of envy,” said the goat’s-foot.

“Won’t you have me?” asked a voice.

A queer, gray individual came walking up the hedge.

“Who are you?” asked the parsley.

“I am the spider,” said the individual.

“Can you fly?” asked the goat’s-foot.

“I can do a little of everything, if need be.”

“Do you eat flies?” asked the parsley.

“All day long.”

“Do you lay eggs?” asked the goat’s-foot. “For, of course, you’re a woman?”

“Yes--thank goodness!” said the spider.

“Then you’re the bird for us,” said the parsley.

“You’re heartily welcome,” said the goat’s-foot. “You look pretty light, so you won’t break our branches. Be sure and begin to build as soon as you please. You’ll find plenty of materials in the hedge.”

“It doesn’t matter in the least if you nip off a leaf here and there,” said the parsley.

“Thanks, I carry my own materials with me,” said the spider.

“I don’t see any luggage,” said the goat’s-foot.

“Perhaps your husband’s bringing it?” asked the parsley.

“I have no husband, thank goodness!” said the spider.

“Poor thing!” said the mouse, who sat listening. “That must be awfully sad for you.”

“Ah, there’s the usual feminine balderdash!” said the spider. “That’s what makes us women such ridiculous and contemptible creatures. It’s always ‘my husband’ here and ‘my husband’ there. I should like to know what use a husband is to one, when all’s said. He’s nothing but a nuisance and a worry. If ever I take another, he sha’n’t live with me, whatever happens.”

“How you talk!” said the mouse. “I can’t think of anything more dismal than if my husband were to live away from me. And I should like to know how I should manage with the children, if he didn’t help me, the dear soul!”

“Children!” replied the spider. “Fiddle-de-dee! I don’t see the use of all that coddling. Lay your eggs in a sensible place and then leave them alone.”

“She doesn’t talk like a bird,” said the parsley, doubtfully.

“I too am beginning to be uneasy about her,” said the goat’s-foot.

“You can call me what you like,” said the spider. “In any case, I don’t associate with the other birds. If there are too many of them here, I won’t even stay.”

“Lord preserve us!” said the parsley, who began to fear lest she should go away. “There are hardly ever any here.”

“They flew into the wood when the trees were cut down,” said the goat’s-foot.

“Yes, it’s dull here,” said the long twigs on the stubs. “One never hears a note.”

“It’s all right here,” said the spider. “As long as the flies buzz, I’m content.”

“Here we are!” said the goat’s-foot and the parsley, straightening themselves.

The spider crawled about and looked around her and the mouse kept on following her with her eyes: