So what a spider does when it wants to spin its line is to squeeze a little drop of silk into one of the spinnerets. It then just touches the object to which the line is to be fastened, and draws its body away. And as it does so a delicate thread comes out from every one of the projections on the spinneret; and all these threads unite together into one stout cord. That is why a spider's thread is so strong. It really consists of several hundred separate threads all firmly fastened together. And if the spider wants to spin a stronger line still, it can unite all the threads coming from several spinnerets into one, so as to make a very stout cord indeed. Spiders use this silk for all sorts of different purposes. In the first place, they use it for snaring insects. THE GARDEN-SPIDER Let us take for an example, the web of the common garden-spider. It is to be seen in every garden, resting in the middle of its web; and you may always recognize it by the white cross upon its back. But I don't suppose that you have ever seen it spinning its net. For it always does so very early in the morning, generally beginning before sunrise, so that it may be quite ready for use as soon as the insects begin to fly. First of all, the spider makes a kind of outer framework of very strong silken cords, and fastens it firmly in position by stout guy-ropes of the same material. Next, she carries a thread right across the middle and fixes it down on either side. Then, starting from the center, she carries thread after thread to the margin, carefully testing the strength of each by giving it two or three smart pulls, and fastening it firmly down. When she has finished this part of her task, the web looks like a badly shaped wheel. The next thing that the spider does is to spin a little silken platform in the middle of her web to sit upon. And as soon as she has done this she begins to spin the spiral thread. Beginning from the center, she goes round and round and round, fastening the thread down every time that it crosses one of the straight cords--the spokes, as it were, of the wheel--until at last the web is finished. Then she goes to the little platform in the middle, and there remains, upside down, waiting for an insect to blunder into her net. By and by, perhaps, a bluebottle fly does so. Then she shakes the web violently for a few moments, so as to entangle it more thoroughly, rushes down upon it, seizes it, and plunges her fangs into its body. But if she catches a wasp or a bee she nearly always cuts it carefully out, drops it to the ground, and then patches up the hole in her web. For she knows perfectly well that wasps and bees can sting!