But this is not all, or enough. However much the spider might look like the ants that it lived amongst, yet if it did not move in the same kind of way that they do it would be detected, and in consequence devoured. Spiders do not walk or run about like ants, not, that is to say, with the same sort of mannerisms that they have. Some of them jump, which is a thing that ants never do, and all ants, when in search of booty, move in a funny little zigzagging way from side to side, which gives them a greater chance of finding things than they would have by going straight forward. Now it is just in this way that some of these ant-like spiders habitually walk, and they do not jump any more than the ants themselves, even though they may happen to belong to a family of jumping spiders. Again, when they eat anything, instead of sitting still, to do it, which is what spiders generally do, they keep pulling the morsel, which is generally some live thing, about, as though to divide it into parts, to be carried to the nest separately, which is what ants often do; and all the while they keep moving the two legs which look like a pair of antennæ just in the way in which it is proper for antennæ to move, sometimes tapping their prey with them, and at other times waving them about. No wonder then that the ants are taken in, for, to the boot of all these resemblances, the spider is of the same size and colour as themselves. The result of it all is, of course, that not an ant of them ever thinks of molesting the spider. He would be a nice tasty morsel for them if they only knew it, and as he is soft and they are hard, they would have no difficulty in overcoming him, even if it were only one to one, instead of one to twenty or more. But as they only see one of themselves running about—and, for my part, I think the spider must feel like an ant, as well as look like one—it never enters their head to attack him, or even not to be polite, for ants of the same nest are very polite to one another.