The Life of the Spider
which the eggs are packed. The art of stout fabrics and of walls within walls is unknown here.
The work of the Cross Spider is a pill of white silk, wrought into a yielding felt, through which the new-born Spiders will easily work their way, without the aid of the mother, long since dead, and without having to rely upon its bursting at the given hour. It is about the size of a damson.
We can judge the method of manufacture from the structure. Like the Lycosa, whom we saw, in Chapter III, at work in one of my earthenware pans, the Cross Spider, on the support supplied by a few threads stretched between the nearest objects, begins by making a shallow saucer of sufficient thickness to dispense with subsequent corrections. The process is easily guessed. The tip of the abdomen goes up and down, down and up, with an even beat, while the worker shifts her place a little. Each time, the spinnerets add a bit of thread to the carpet already made.
When the requisite thickness is obtained, the mother empties her ovaries, in one continuous flow, into the centre of the bowl. Glued together by their inherent moisture, the eggs,
178
