and he did, the next morning.
he came crawling up on his eight legs, very sedately and circumspectly. a little behind him came all that was left in the way of man-spiders in the hedge. the long twigs on the stubs stretched out their necks to see him. the parsley and the goat’s-foot spread out both flowers and leaves, to make his road as easy as possible. the mouse stood on her hind-legs with curiosity and stared and listened.
the princess herself sat in her web and pretended not to see him.
“noble princess,” he said, “i have come to ask you if you will have me for your husband.”
“this is the thirteenth,” she said.
but within herself she thought that she liked him better than the others. they had all wanted to take her for their wife: this one begged her to take him for her husband. that sounded modest and well-mannered.
“she’s giving way,” said the mouse and danced with rapture.
“hush!” said the parsley.
“hark!” said the goat’s-foot.
“she hasn’t eaten him yet!” whispered the gentleman-spiders to one another.
“i well know,” said the wooer, “how presumptuous it is of me to address such a request to you. what is a wretched man compared with a woman and, in particular, what is a silly fellow like myself to you, who are the largest and cleverest lady in all the hedge? but that is just what attracts me to you.”
she turned and looked at him. he nearly fell to the ground with fright and cast his eight eyes down before him. all the other gentleman-spiders rushed away at a furious pace.
“now she’ll eat him,” said the goat’s-foot and the parsley.
“she is a sweet young thing!” said the twigs on the stubs.
“she’s a terrible woman!” said the mouse.
but she did not eat him.
she caught a fly that flew into her web just then and began leisurely to devour it, while attentively contemplating her suitor.
he was an ugly little beggar, especially now, when he was shaking all over his body, because he thought that his last hour had struck. but that was just how she liked to see him. she thought that quite the right attitude for a man. and, when he saw that she gave no sign of making for him, he recovered to such an extent that he was able to finish his speech:
“i quite understand that you can’t see anything at all good-looking in me,” he said. “i don’t want to make myself out better than i am; and i am only a miserable man. but, if i could become the father of a daughter who was like you, i should consider that i had attained the object of my life and give thanks most humbly for my good fortune.”
then a wonderful thing came to pass. she took the leg of a fly and threw it to him, which among spiders means the same as “yes.”
quivering with happiness and apprehension, he crept nearer to her.
“very well,” she said. “i accept you. but mind you don’t irritate me. for then i’ll eat you.”
“she’s accepted him!” said the mouse and swooned away with delight.
“she’s accepted him!” said the goat’s-foot and the parsley.
“she’s accepted him!” said the twigs on the stubs and rustled for sheer astonishment.
“she’s accepted him!” cried the gentleman-spiders, who had come back, but now ran away again, partly to spread the news in the hedge and partly so as not to be eaten at the wedding.
and it was a wedding.
the whole hedge was a scene of jubilation and the mouse was the gladdest of them all, for it was her doing. or perhaps the fool’s-parsley and the goat’s-foot were gladder still, for they would now have that family-life in their tops which they had so often longed for and which would raise them to the level of the real bushes. as for the twigs on the old stubs, they were infected with the universal joy and forgot their envy.
the wedding took place forthwith, for there was nothing to wait for. the parsley and the goat’s-foot scattered their white flowers on every side to mark the festival. the mouse dragged her little ones up the hedge so that they might see the happy bridal pair; the bluebell rang, the poppy laughed and the bindweed closed her petals half an hour earlier than usual so as not to embarrass the newly-married couple with a misplaced curiosity.
the bride ate all the flies that she had spun up, without offering the bridegroom one. but that did not matter, for he was up to the throat in happiness, so he could not have got a morsel down in any case. he[48] made himself as small as possible. once, when she stroked him on the back with one of her combs, he shook till they thought that he would die.
