OLD David, who had been many years at Woodlands, was indeed very good-natured, and from the day when Leila had evinced so much anxiety to have poor Peggy’s garden put in nice order, had taken quite a fancy to his young mistress. He stood over her while she sprinkled the earth gently upon the seeds, having given her a flower-pot of the proper size to put them in, and he seemed much interested as to their coming up, but could give no positive opinion when that event might take place. “Some very small seeds,” he remarked, “came up very quickly, while others of equal size required to lie in the ground a long time; he would not despair,” he said, “though they did not make their appearance for a month; besides, who could tell what might be the nature of flower-seeds from that outlandish country,” for Leila had told him they came from the island, though he had no idea of the other circumstances which made them so precious in her

eyes. The residence of the squire on a desert island had for some time past been a favourite subject of discussion both in David’s cottage and at the lodge, and the wonderful histories related by Nurse had been listened to with the most profound attention and astonishment, and had served to throw a sort of romantic interest around both Mr. Howard and his child. Old David had remarked, “that it was easy to see their young mistress was something by common, something sae gleesome, and springing about her as if her foot had been used to the hill-side and the heather brae. She remembered him muckle of the highland lassies of his own dear country; for though he had been long enough in England to have forgotten his Scotch tongue, (and the more the pity,) yet he had not been long enough to forget their ways, and he was still a highlander in his heart, every inch of him.”

But to return to Leila. She had just completed sowing the precious seeds when Alfred ran into the conservatory.

“I cannot find Selina,” he said; “but, Cousin Leila, you are always so good-natured, perhaps you will go with me to Mrs. Roberts,—I have done a cruel thing, though I did not mean to be cruel, and I would like to have some one with me when I tell it.”

Leila, having placed the flower-pot in what David pronounced to be the most favoured spot in the conservatory, proceeded immediately with Alfred to seek Mrs. Roberts. They found Selina and Matilda with her.

“Mrs. Roberts,” Alfred began, in a hesitating manner, as they entered the room, “you told me not to be cruel, and I promised, and indeed I was not cruel; but I have brought the body to you to see if you can bring it alive again;” and he placed a little bit of paper, crumpled up, before Mrs. Roberts.

Matilda jumped up. “What is the boy saying? the body! what body?” and she was about to seize the paper, but Alfred spread his hands over it.

“Matilda, you are not to touch that paper,” Mrs. Roberts said gently; and, turning to Alfred, she continued,—“and now, my little man, compose yourself, and tell me distinctly what has happened.”

Alfred then proceeded to say that he had been playing in the garden, and on lifting up a stone, a number of spiders had run out from below it, that one was very large and beautifully spotted, that he did not mean to kill it or even to catch it, only to touch it very gently with his finger; but on his doing so, immediately all its legs fell off, and it dropped down dead; that he instantly looked for its legs, but could not see them, they had quite melted away. And Alfred was so overcome by the recital of this sad catastrophe, that he dissolved into tears.

“Crying for such a thing as that?” Matilda exclaimed; “foolish Alfred.”

“But, Matilda, it had eight legs.”

“And so,” Matilda continued, “because its eight legs melted away you must melt away also. Take care, Alfred, we shall be looking for you next on the carpet, and not be able to find you.”

Alfred now did not know whether to laugh or cry, but unfolding the paper, he carefully laid before Mrs. Roberts what appeared to be a very small, shapeless particle of brown earth—it certainly had no resemblance to a spider.

“That is the body,” he said, in a mysterious whisper, intended only for the ears of Mrs. Roberts; “and now,” he continued aloud, “do you think I can do any thing to revive it? If I were to put it into a cup of warm water, perhaps——”

Matilda laughed. “Perhaps its legs would grow on again, you mean. Well, Alfred, this certainly would be a wonderful water-cure; you should set up an establishment and call it the warm water-cure for making legs and arms grow on again. You would make a fortune; for I heard mamma say the other day, that this seemed to be the age for believing in every sort of wonderful cure that could be invented, the more improbable the better.”

“How you run on, Matilda,” Mrs. Roberts said; “you should be aware Alfred cannot enter into all this sort of thing—you forget the difference of age between you;” then turning to Alfred, she continued,—“No, Alfred, it would not do to put this spider into water. This is what is called a wolf-spider, and were you to put it into warm water, you would certainly kill it; at present I do not think it is dead.”

Alfred’s countenance brightened.

Mrs. Roberts continued,—“Give me that sheet of white paper.” She placed the paper on a small work-table in a sunny corner of the room, and laid the spider upon it.

“Now keep quiet, all of you,” she said, “and we shall see what it does.” In a few minutes the spider unfolded its legs, and running across the paper to the edge of the table, it shot out a slender thread from its body, by which it swiftly descended to the ground.

Alfred clapped his hands, exclaiming,—“Alive, and I did not kill it, and it has got all its legs again; how very wonderful! But where did the thread come from by which it got down so very quick? Mrs. Roberts, do tell me!”

“It spun the thread from a sort of gluey substance which is contained in the flasks in its body. Each spider has four of those flasks or bags of gum, and from each tube communicates with what is called its spinneret, and with the gluey substance which passes through these tubes, it spins its thread with these spinnerets; it is very wonderful, but too difficult for you to understand at present. That thread which appeared to you so fine is composed of many finer threads, which make it stronger; just as in cords of equal thickness, those which are composed of many smaller ones united are greatly stronger than those which are spun at once; but where has the spider gone to now, Alfred? Yes, I see it; don’t touch it;” and Mrs. Roberts took a cup in which she carefully caught the spider without touching it, and having placed this cup in a saucer full of water, she desired them to watch its further proceedings. The spider ran repeatedly to the brim of the cup descending on the other side, but was always stopped by the water which surrounded it. Sadly perplexed by this unexpected obstacle, after having ran round and round by the edge of the water several times, it stood still, and raised its two fore-legs in the air.

“It is trying,” Mrs. Roberts said, “to ascertain from which side there is a current of air to carry its thread to some object to support it, the opposite rim of the saucer, for instance.”

“Oh, how very curious!” they all exclaimed. But this world of waters seemed quite overwhelming to the poor spider, who could feel no current of air, and it was returning hopelessly into the cup when Mrs. Roberts said,—“Now you shall see it throw its little silken bridge across, and get free from this sad imprisonment;” and she blew very gently in the desired direction.

The spider instantly descended again to the edge of the water, and shot out a thread, which it fixed to the cup at one end, while the other end floating in the air, also became fixed to the brim of the saucer. It first pulled this thread with its fore-feet, as if to ascertain its strength, then passed swiftly along it, spinning another floating thread as it went, lest the first should not be sufficiently secure to ensure its safety, and arriving safely on the brim of the saucer, descended the other side, and once more scampered off.

“Well done, you clever creature,” Matilda exclaimed; “how I wish I could sometimes escape from the school-room as cleverly.”

Leila glanced towards Mrs. Roberts half afraid.

But Mrs. Roberts only smiled. “You are a sad girl, Matilda,” she said; “there is much folly bound up in your little heart, but I don’t despair of you; the time will come, and I trust ere long, when you will not find the school-room such an imprisonment.”

Matilda looked gratefully at Mrs. Roberts, and sudden in all her impulses, she jumped up, and kissed her hand; then turning round, she said,—“But, Leila, you have expressed no surprise at all those wonderful things! I do believe you knew about them before, though you did not say a word.”

“Yes,” Leila answered, quietly; “papa told me a good deal about spiders in the island.”

“Out with it, then,” Matilda said, impatiently; “do, Leila, tell us every thing you know; how odd you are; when I know any thing I am dying to tell it. What more did your papa say about them?”

“He showed me a water-spider, sailing in its curious little raft, and watching for its prey; and a mason-spider, living in a beautiful nest, lined with a sort of orange-coloured silk, which it had spun itself, and with a little door to its nest with a spring hinge, which shuts of itself when the spider goes in. And he did a curious thing about the eggs of the wolf-spider; he took away the bag of eggs, and then the little spider carried off the bag belonging to the large spider; and they had such a fight about it.”

“Oh! do tell us more about that,” Matilda said, eagerly. “I should like so to hear about the fight; and so the little spider carried off the bag of eggs belonging to the big spider—that was most excellent!”

“And most just,” Selina observed.

“Now, Selina, that is so like you; how can you expect a spider to have a sense of justice, and it is natural for spiders to fight, I dare say; indeed it is natural for other people also sometimes, and just because they have a sense of justice. But, Leila, do tell us all about it.”

Leila coloured; “Mrs. Roberts could explain it much better,” she said.

“No, my dear, I don’t think I could; you will do it more simply, because you will tell only what you understand yourself; but stay, did you not say, Alfred, that you saw a great many spiders under the stones in the garden? perhaps, Leila, you might find some with a bag of eggs—take this tumbler to catch them in—bring two, if you can find them, a larger and a smaller, and put this paper over the glass, that they may not escape. Matilda, I see you are eager to go also—you may accompany Leila; but allow her to catch the spiders—great care must be taken not to injure the bags.”

They were off in a moment, and soon returned with two spiders in the tumbler.

“Now we shall see it all,” Matilda said, “you can’t think how cleverly Leila caught them; she is an excellent spider hunter. Now, Leila, begin; do try to make them fight.”

Leila lifted the smaller of the two spiders very gently, and took up a needle.

“Stop, stop,” Matilda exclaimed; “are you going to stick a needle in its body? I don’t want to see that.”

“No, no,” Leila answered; “don’t be afraid; I am only going to take off the bag, and the bag is not a part of its body, though it looks like it—it will easily come off; the spider glues it on, and it can easily do so again, after we have seen them fight.”

She then very dexterously disengaged the bag of eggs without breaking it, and put it on the table. The spider, instead of running away, as it otherwise would have done, showed the greatest anxiety to regain it. She slowly wandered over every corner of the table, crawling over books, work-boxes, &c., &c., as if in search of something; then, having at last discovered the lost bag behind Selina’s work-box, she suddenly made a rush towards it, and having seized it with her upper pair of jaws, she ran off with it, carrying it as a cat often does its kitten.

“O look!” Matilda exclaimed, “she is stopping behind your writing-desk, Leila; she thinks she has got into a cunning hole, where no one will see her—what is she about now?—she is pushing the bag between her legs, and I do believe she is glueing it in—yes, indeed, for there she is scampering off again, and with her bag just as it was before; she will be off the table in a moment.”

But Leila caught the spider, and taking the bag from her again, she put her under the tumbler where the larger spider was:—“Now,” she said, “if they are the same as the spiders in the island, she will fancy the bag of eggs of the other spider to be her own, and she will fight for it;” and hardly had she spoken, when both spiders were struggling and fighting violently for the possession of the bag—they reared themselves up, extending their front legs in a threatening attitude, and showing their angry feelings in the most evident manner. In the struggle the other bag of eggs became detached from the larger spider, and the little one, after making the most violent efforts to seize it, finally succeeded; the larger spider having rolled over, the other one scampered off with the bag, and Leila having raised the tumbler to permit its escape, it was presently again on the table—it passed its own bag of eggs on its way to the window, but took no notice, seemingly quite satisfied with its stolen treasure. The other spider was now also set at liberty, and having, after running about some time, discovered the other bag of eggs, it was making a dart towards it, when Mrs. Roberts took the bag up, and having pricked it with a needle, instantly a multitude of young ones ran out, and climbing up on the old spider, almost covered her—she remained quite still, apparently overwhelmed (as well she might be) with the burden of such a family.

“Poor thing!” Selina observed; “she will never be able to manage so many little ones.”

“Oh, she will get a governess,” Matilda said; “and I only hope she may get as good a one as Mrs. Roberts.”

Mrs. Roberts shook her head but could not help being amused:—“You are an odd girl, Matilda,” she replied; “but you had better take the spider down into the garden again, it will be more likely to find a governess there, who will understand the nature of the charge.” She gently lifted the spider, placed it in the glass, and gave it to Matilda—then added, “You will be the better, all of you, for a little fresh air in the garden: I have a letter to write, which has been too long delayed, but I shall join you there as soon as I have finished.”