Arachnida, or “Spotted Spider,” the name given him by his neighbor Yuti, who lived at the edge of the trail not far from the bear’s den, had grown so large, and his legs so long that his snare was no longer strong enough to bear his weight. Once in a while he would go back to it, make a few extra turns, spin stronger strands, and try it out; but it was no use, down it came every time he tried. After repairing it, he would say to himself, “Never again.” Then he would go back to the dark cave in the ledge that for many years had been the home of his friend, Bruin, who had wandered away, and had never returned. Nor did any one know of his whereabouts.

Old Spot, though having really no claims by right of possession to Bruin’s premises, felt he was not trespassing. He had always been on the most intimate terms with him, and had served him in many ways, recalling how often he had nursed him when Black Bear had feasted, not wisely, but too well in the garden of Yuti, who had cultivated a well-ordered patch bordering the woodland near his lodge.

Yuti suspected Bruin—in fact had seen him leaving the patch where the corn grew several nights before he had gone away; but being on friendly terms with Spot, who was very devoted to Bruin, he never made any complaint, feeling it was better to live in accord with his neighbors rather than to plant the seed of hostility. “Bruin was hungry, so let him eat. The sun and rain will cause more corn to grow.” This is what Yuti would say.

Old Spot had always lived alone, weaving his snare in the most likely place for his prey, just at the beginning of the trail as it entered the wood, and in good view of his apartment in the ledge. His spinners and spinnerets had the reputation of making the strongest silk thread in that vicinity.

Of course, Spot was proud of this, but he was getting on in years—some of his twelve eyes were losing focus, and he sometimes felt, though not always, with Bruin away and Yuti not as sociable as he would have liked him to be, that life did not have much attraction for him. His mandibles did not serve him with the same dexterity that they had possessed when he was younger, when he tried to seize his prey and squeeze it: this depressed him. There were also symptoms of rheumatism in two or three of his many legs, causing troublesome and disagreeable pains; and having many legs and long ones, the chances were that his suffering would be much more serious than if they had been fewer and shorter.

Knowing that these symptoms without doubt meant the approach of age, he became very blue at times, and for days would not stir from his quarters to see if his snare held any food for him.

For two days and as many nights he slept with his long slender legs wrapped about him. The fall was coming on and he would often wake himself by chilly shudders, the nights being very, very cold. On the morning of the third day he was wakened by a strange noise. The sound came from the direction of his snare, but knowing that the young fox and the lynx made noises like real babies he paid little heed. Changing his position because three of his hind legs had gotten tangled, he settled again for another sleep of a day or two. Again the sounds like those of a crying child disturbed him, and again he said to himself:

“It’s only a young thing that has strayed from its mother.”

Before he had finished thinking, the cries became louder and more appealing; so Spot, being of a kindly nature, though age had hardened him as it does so many, decided to investigate.

He had been in one position so long that his legs, or a half-dozen of them, refused to work as he would like to have had them; but being very hungry from his long fast, he drew himself together, and with a big effort and a bigger grunt, stood up, stretched himself, and walked to the entrance to his den.

Just as he poked his face out Yuti, who was gathering fagots to make a fire to roast a fat rabbit he had snared the night before, called out:

“You’ve got a fine catch this morning.”

Spot did not answer. Turning in the direction of his snare that was stretched from either side of the trail, attached to as fine a pair of white birches as ever plumed a wood, he beheld two creatures with great, tapering wings, beating and struggling for freedom, making at the same time, wee, shrill cries that caused Spot to hurry his pace.

His first thought was for the safety of his snare.

“Here’s a pretty mess,” thought he. “How shall I ever repair it?”

All the time Spot was hobbling toward the strange, struggling things, their cries increased. They were real heart-piercing cries. The more they shrieked the more they struggled, and alas, poor Spot’s snare was being torn to ribbons.

The cries were so terrifying that Spot was just a bit frightened, but having been always very courageous, he rather resented the feeling of timidity, and, quickening his steps, he approached the destroyers and the destroyed.

“Bears and beetles!” ejaculated Spot, “What have I caught this time?”

Fast in the lashings of his great web a brace of Cupids were beating their splendid wings vigorously against his snare. As he came near they cried more lustily.

“Where does so much sound come from?” thought Spot, looking at their rosy, plump little bodies.

Seeing Spot approaching them, they cried all the louder; but observing his venerable and kindly face, they suddenly became quiet, waiting to see what was to be their fate.

“Well, my children,” said Spot in a gentle tone, “you’ve made a pretty kettle of fish of my only means of securing food. Where did you come from, and what are your names?”

“Get us out of this tangle and we’ll tell you all about it,” said the Cupids in chorus.

Old Spot gathered the end of a long strand of spider silk that was floating with the wind, and began to wind.

“Hurry!” said one of the little prisoners. Spot hurried as fast as he could, but the faster he worked his spinner the oftener he broke the thread.

“Be patient,” said Spot, “The more haste the less speed.”

“Yes, but I’m cramped,” said the Cupid who was bound tighter than his mate, as he struggled to free himself. Part of the great web fastened to the birches began to sag from the weight of the chubby little victims.

“Have a heart,” commanded Spot in a sterner voice than before. “There will be nothing left of my trap if you don’t keep quiet.”

“But you are so slow,” observed the one with four dimples on his hand.

At last the sticky threads were tightly bound on Spot’s spinners, and the poor tired little chubs, being free, stood up, slowly moving their wings that had been so ruffled and mussed by old Spot’s food-catcher.

“You asked our names and where we came from,” straightening out their wings and adjusting a few shaggy feathers.

“Yes,” said Spot, scratching his head with his hindermost leg in meditation.

“Cupid is our name. We have no home.”

“No home?” echoed Spot. “What is your other name?”

“We have no other name, it’s just Cupid.”

“That’s news to me,” said Spot thoughtfully, adding:

“Aye, aye! You’re the little chaps that make a lot of trouble in the world. I’ve heard of you very often.”

“Yes, and a lot of happiness,” they replied timidly, in a voice not bigger than a wren’s.

Again the little fellows flapped their splendid wings, that were gradually getting back to their original form.

“Not quite so much breeze; I’m very sensitive to drafts,” pled Spot, eyeing the pair with a feeling of pity.

“No father or mother? Poor kiddies,” thought he.

“You have always been alone?”

“Always,” they replied.

“Have you nothing to wear to keep you warm?”

“Nope,” they replied, shivering just a little, seeing old Spot was being moved to sympathy.

“We’ll see about that,” he said. “Come over to my house, and I’ll build a fire for you.” So over they all went to Spot’s den.

“What a delightful place,” said the Cupids, looking around.

“You like it, do you?” said Spot.

“It’s very cosy,” said they as they entered the den, and cuddled in one corner where the leaves had blown in as if to make a comfortable bed for them.

“Would you like to make your home with me?”

They looked at each other with an expression of pleasure, each anticipating the reply of the other to be “Yes.”

“Would you let us?”

Spot did not reply, he was so deep in thought. “What delightful little things to have around,” he almost said aloud.

“Would you let us?” they repeated.

“I’d be glad to have you,” trying not to express too much emotion, as he was pleased beyond all measure at the thought of having them for his companions.

“What shall we do about our wings; they are so terribly in the way,” as they tried to adjust them so they would not scrape the rough wall of the cave.

“If you want them clipped my friend Yuti can attend to that,” said Spot.

“Would it hurt?” they asked.

“I think not.”

“All right; can we have it done now?”

“We’ll go and see if Yuti is at home,” replied Spot, looking in the direction of Yuti’s moose-skin lodge.

Over they went across the cleared land, where they found Yuti mending his moccasins.

“I’ve a job for you,” called Spot, as Yuti looked up very much bewildered at the sight that to him was startling.

“I’ve a little job for you, Yuti,” repeated Spot. “Get your tomahawk and clip the wings of my little friends.”

Yuti looked at Spot and then at the Cupids. “What a strange request,” he thought.

Then Spot took Yuti aside and told him about his strange experience, and Yuti only smiled, saying nothing.

Going to his lodge he got his tomahawk and led the party to an old oak stump. Then taking the Cupid standing nearest to him, he gently led him to the stump and placed his wing upon it. With one stroke off it came.

“My! that was easy,” said his interested companion, looking to see if it hurt.

“Now the other,” said Yuti, and Cupid turned around.

Down came the strong arm of Yuti, and off came the other wing.

“What a relief,” sighed the little fellow, now free of his troublesome appendages. The other Cupid moved toward the stump. It was but the work of a few seconds and all was over.

Reaching up and each taking one of Yuti’s hands in his, the tiny fellows thanked him; then the little party started back to the den.

On their arrival the conversation became more general and less constrained, all becoming better acquainted.

“Something must be done about your clothing; we are liable to have snow any day,” said Spot, in a tone burdened with solicitude, for spiders have the reputation of being kind to their young and those they like, even though the lady-spider sometimes devours her husband in a fit of anger.

“Let’s go down to the snare and see how much there is left of it,” he continued. “If it can’t be repaired I’ll have to weave another, for clothing you must have.” After surveying the mass of tangled threads, they decided it would be best to make a new web.

For days Spot worked upon it. Then he began the patterns for the suits. Up and down, under and over, he wove, warp and woof, doubling it and twisting the threads so that the garments would be warm; drawing close and tight the strands that formed the strange little affairs to be worn by his Cupids—perhaps the only Cupids that ever wore clothes.

They would sit in admiration. “How really clever old Spot is,” they remarked.

As the wonder garments neared completion, he added pockets, and made openings through which the little wings that were left could pass.

Realizing how good he was to them, they decided to be very helpful and to serve him in every way possible as long as he lived, which was to be for a very long time. When strangers passed and saw the little things sitting close to Spot, some would ask: “How is it that their wings are so small?”

Then Spot would smile and say: “The reason Cupids have no wings is because—they do not want them.” And then Spot would look at the Cupids and the Cupids would look at Spot, and they would giggle; but Spot would look serious. Of course, the strangers did not understand the cause of their merriment.

Sometimes when Spot put the Cupids to bed, and covered and tucked them in with sweet grasses and scented moss flowers to keep them warm, he would sit beside them when the tree-toad whistled his night song, and wonder if they had their large wings again, whether they would fly away, and leave him all alone.