This presumes, it is true, an exemplary patience on the Lycosa’s part; for the burrow has naught that can serve to entice victims.  At best, the ledge provided by the turret may, at rare intervals, tempt some weary wayfarer to use it as a resting-place.  But, if the quarry do not come to-day, it is sure to come to-morrow, the next day, or later, for the Locusts hop innumerable in the waste-land, nor are they always able to regulate their leaps.  Some day or other, chance is bound to bring one of them within the purlieus of the burrow.  This is the moment to spring upon the pilgrim from the ramparts.  Until then, we maintain a stoical vigilance.  We shall dine when we can; but we shall end by dining.

The Lycosa, therefore, well aware of these lingering eventualities, waits and is not unduly distressed by a prolonged abstinence.  She has an accommodating stomach, which is satisfied to be gorged to-day and to remain empty afterwards for goodness knows how long.  I have sometimes neglected my catering-duties for weeks at a time; and my boarders have been none the worse for it.  After a more or less protracted fast, they do not pine away, but are smitten with a wolf-like hunger.  All these ravenous eaters are alike:  they guzzle to excess to-day, in anticipation of to-morrow’s dearth.

In her youth, before she has a burrow, the Lycosa earns her living in another manner.  Clad in grey like her elders, but without the black-velvet apron which she receives on attaining the marriageable age, she roams among the scrubby grass.  This is true hunting.  Should a suitable quarry heave in sight, the Spider pursues it, drives it from its shelters, follows it hot-foot.  The fugitive gains the heights, makes as though to fly away.  He has not the time.  With an upward leap, the Lycosa grabs him before he can rise.

I am charmed with the agility wherewith my yearling boarders seize the Flies which I provide for them.  In vain does the Fly take refuge a couple of inches up, on some blade of grass.  With a sudden spring into the air, the Spider pounces on the prey.  No Cat is quicker in catching her Mouse.

But these are the feats of youth not handicapped by obesity.  Later, when a heavy paunch, dilated with eggs and silk, has to be trailed along, those gymnastic performances become impracticable.  The Lycosa then digs herself a settled abode, a hunting-box, and sits in her watch-tower, on the look-out for game.

When and how is the burrow obtained wherein the Lycosa, once a vagrant, now a stay-at-home, is to spend the remainder of her long life?  We are in autumn, the weather is already turning cool.  This is how the Field Cricket sets to work:  as long as the days are fine and the nights not too cold, the future chorister of spring rambles over the fallows, careless of a local habitation.  At critical moments, the cover of a dead leaf provides him with a temporary shelter.  In the end, the burrow, the permanent dwelling, is dug as the inclement season draws nigh.