"Because by the time you are up the pretty pink clouds are gone, and the thirsty grass has drank the dew, or the sun has drawn it up to fall again at night for the flowers' evening bath," replied Wee, watching the soft color that began to touch Daisy's pale cheeks. "I think we'd better look under that cobweb spread like a tent over the white clovers. A fairy would be very likely to creep in there and sleep." Daisy knelt down and peeped carefully; but all she saw was a little brown spider, who looked very much surprised to see visitors so early. "I don't like spiders," said Daisy, much disappointed. "There are things about spiders as interesting to hear as fairy tales," said Wee. "This is Mrs. Epeira Diadema; and she is a respectable, industrious little neighbor. She spreads her tent, but sits under a leaf near by, waiting for her breakfast. She wraps her eggs in a soft silken bag, and hides them in some safe chink, where they lie till spring. The eggs are prettily carved and ornamented, and so hard that the baby spiders have to force their way out by biting the shell open and poking their little heads through. The mother dies as soon as her eggs are safely placed, and the spiderlings have to take care of themselves." "How do you know about it, Aunt Wee? You talk as if Mrs. Eppyra--or whatever her name is--had told you herself. Did she?" asked Daisy, feeling more interested in the brown spider. "No; I read it in a book, and saw pictures of the eggs, web, and family. I had a live one in a bottle; and she spun silken ladders all up and down, and a little room to sleep in. She ate worms and bugs, and was very amiable and interesting till she fell ill and died." "I should like to see the book; and have a spider-bottle, so I could take care of the poor little orphans when they are born. Good-by, ma'am. I shall call again; for you are 'most as good as a fairy there in your pretty tent, with a white clover for your bed." Daisy walked on a few steps, and then stopped to say: "What does that bird mean by calling 'Hurry up, hurry up?' He keeps flying before us, and looking back as if he wanted to show me something." "Let me hear what he says. I may be able to understand him, or the bob-o-link that swings on the alder by the brook." Wee listened a moment, while the birds twittered and chirped with all their hearts. Presently Wee sang in a tone very like the bob-o-link's: "Daisy and Wee, Come here, and see What a dainty feast is spread: Down in the grass Where fairies pass, Here are berries ripe and red. "All wet with dew, They wait for you: Come hither, and eat your fill, While I gayly sing, In my airy swing, And the sun climbs up the hill." "Did he really say that?" cried Daisy, watching the bob-o-link, who sat swaying up and down on the green bough, and nodding his white-capped head at her in the most friendly manner.