the next morning, a really nice gentleman-spider was sitting on the parsley, but a good way off from the snappish young lady.

he had brushed his clothes and spun a couple of fine threads to show what he could do. he bent and stretched his legs for her to see that he was well-shaped. seven of his eyes beamed with love, while the eighth took care that she didn’t eat him:

“allow me, miss, to offer you my hand and heart,” said he.

“he’s a fair-spoken man,” said the parsley.

“a charming man,” said the goat’s-foot.

“it was i that sent him here,” said the mouse.

“idiot!” said the damsel.

but the spider did not throw up the game so easily. he gracefully bowed his thorax, set two of his eyes to watch that nothing happened to him and looked doubly enamoured with the other six:

“do not think that i mean to be a burden to you,” he said. “i have my own web a little way down the hedge and i can easily catch the few flies i require. i have even got five real fat ones hanging and spun up, which i shall esteem it an honour to offer you to-morrow, so that you may see that it is love alone that urges me to propose to you.”

“is that you talking your nonsense?” said the damsel. “what the blazes should i do with such a silly man?”

“dear me!” he said—and now there was only one eye in love, so fierce was her air—“if my courtship seems inopportune to you, i will retire at once and wait till another time....”

“i rather think that’s the wisest thing you could do,” said she. “clear out, this minute, or i’ll....”

he slid down a thread in no time and she after him. but he escaped and, a little later, she was sitting in her web again, looking sourer than ever.

“what a woman!” said the mouse.

“yes, just so!” said the spider.

“it doesn’t do to take the first that comes,” said the parsley.

“it’s only that he wasn’t the right one,” said the goat’s-foot.

but the unfortunate suitor went round the hedge telling the other spiders about the charming and remarkable lady whose web hung between the parsley and the goat’s-foot.

“she is so big,” he said, spreading his legs as wide as he could. “i have never seen any one so pretty in my life. but she’s as proud as a peacock. i shall certainly die of grief at her refusal. in any case, one thing is sure, that i shall never marry.”

they listened to him wide-eyed and made him tell them again. it was not long before the story of the proud and beautiful spider-princess went the round of the hedge. as soon as the men had finished their day’s work, they came together and sat and talked about her. each of them had his own observations to make, but gradually they were all so excited with love that they thought they simply could not live unless they won the fair one.

one after the other, they set out a-wooing and they all fared badly.

the first was a dashing fellow, who had chaffed the unfortunate suitor mercilessly for promising her the five flies which he had got spun up at home in his web:

“women don’t care a hang for promises,” he said. “they like their presents down, then and there. you just watch me.”

he came dragging a splendid blue-bottle along and laid it without a word at the damsel’s feet.

“do you think i would allow a man to support me?” she said.

before he could look round, she had caught him and eaten him up. she scornfully let the fly be, but, later in the afternoon, when she thought no one saw her, she came down notwithstanding and ate it.

and the wooers that came after fared not a whit better.

she ate six of them in the middle of their speech and two had not even time to open their mouths. one was caught by the starling, just as he was about to make his bow, and one fell into the ditch with fright, when she looked at him, and was drowned.

“that makes twelve,” said the mouse.

“i have not counted them,” said the spider. “but now i presume they’ll leave me in peace.”

“you’re a terrible woman,” said the mouse. “i prophesy you’ll end by going childless to your grave.”

for the first time, the spider seemed a little pensive.

“now her hard heart is melting,” said the mouse.

“oh!” said the wild parsley.

“ah!” said the goat’s-foot.

“stuff!” said the spider.

but she continued to look pensive and stared at her combs and never noticed that a fly flew into her web. presently, she said:

“the fact is, one ought at least to see that one brings a pair of strapping wenches into the world. i suppose it’s my duty to leave somebody behind me to inherit my contempt for those wretched men.”

“she’s on the road!” whispered the mouse.

and the goat’s-foot and the fool’s-parsley nodded and neither of them said a word, so as not to disturb her in her reflections.

but the mouse hurried off to the hedge and called all the surviving gentleman-spiders together:

“the one who proposes to the princess to-morrow gets her,” said she. “she’s quite altered. she’s melted. her heart is like wax. she won’t catch any flies, won’t eat, won’t drink and just sits and stares wistfully before her. look sharp!”

then the mouse ran away.

but the spiders looked at one another doubtfully. not one of them had the proper courage to risk the attempt, seeing how badly the twelve had fared, and a few even of the wiser ones went up at once and hid under their leaves, so as not to fall into temptation.

a few remained behind, who thought about what the mouse had said, including one little young, thin one, who had always listened while the others were talking about the wonderful princess, but had never said anything himself:

“i think i’ll try,” he said, suddenly.

“you?” cried all the others, in one breath.

and they began to laugh at the thought that this chap should achieve what so many a bold spider-fellow had lost his life in attempting.

but the little chap let them laugh as much as they pleased:

“i don’t suppose i’m poaching on your preserves,” he said. “there’s none of you that has the pluck. and i just feel like making the experiment. i’ve been there to look at her and, by jove, she is a fine woman! if she’s rejected the twelve, perhaps she’ll accept the thirteenth. also, i think the suitors went the wrong way to work.”

“oh, you think so, do you?” said the others, still laughing. “and how will you go to work?”

“you can come with me and see for yourselves,” he said. “i’ll stroll across to-morrow and propose.”