“Ashamed and miserable, she sought to hang herself in the meshes of her web. “‘Nay, rash maid,’ spoke Athena; ‘thou shalt not die, but live to be the mother of a great race, the most wonderful spinners on earth.’ “Even as Athena spoke, Arachne grew smaller and smaller, until not a maiden, but a spider, hung from that marvellous web. “And now, my friends,” finished Mrs. Orb Weaver, “need I tell you that we are the wonderful race of which Athena spoke, and need _I_ add that we have inherited Arachne’s marvellous skill, and are truly the most wonderful spinners on earth? Now I am hungry and the meeting is adjourned.” “So am I,” added Daddy Long Legs, “not adjourned, but hungry, and, by the way, do you imagine any one believes that old story?” He winked at Ruth, and then moved away as fast as his long legs would carry him. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER IV MRS. MOSQUITO AND HER KIN “Thou art welcome to the town, but why come here To bleed a fellow poet gaunt like thee? Alas! the little blood I have is dear, And thin will be the banquet drawn from me.” —_Bryant._ “That horrid mosquito,” said Ruth, waking with a start, and slapping her cheek. “Aha! you didn’t get me that time,” answered a thin, high-pitched voice! Ruth sat up. She had been asleep under the apple tree, but she was quite awake now. “Where are you?” she asked, “and are you really talking?” “I seem to be,” answered the mosquito, “though you tried to finish me just now. I bear no ill-will, though. I am quite used to being an outlaw. What is more, I don’t intend to be any better. I shall go on biting people as much as I please. I must have my meals as well as the rest of the world. People seem to forget that fact.” “But just biting people——” began Ruth. “It isn’t just biting,” put in the mosquito. “It really isn’t biting at all. I have a sharp little instrument to pierce the skin of the fellow I choose for my dinner, and the best kind of sucking pump to pump up his blood. That’s the way I get my meals. It is different with my mate. He is a harmless sort of fellow. He can’t even sing, and he likes such baby food as the nectar of flowers. Now tell me why I am different from other insect musicians.” She fixed her big eyes on Ruth, who moved uneasily, and answered with not a little hesitation: “I—I—really don’t know.” “I’m a female. That’s why. In all the orders, so far as I know, the singers are males. Naturally I am proud of being an exception. Well, you didn’t know that. Do you know why I don’t care for science?” “It is just like an examination,” thought Ruth, and again she answered. “I don’t know.”