I feel sorry for the poor spider having to balance the windmill. It's just artistic licence really and play on words it doesn't have to make sense. ;-)
The meal was a noisy and incredibly messy affair. The older children were decorous and careful, but the same could hardly be said of their younger siblings. The most raucous was a fat-faced little boy, who seemed to delight in splashing the broth everywhere but into his mouth. Each time he was reproved by one of the two older girls he adopted a look of such solemn contrition that one had great difficulty in not bursting out laughing - and then moments later, remorse forgotten, he would be spraying those around him once more. Eventually the girl beside him, barely older than himself, tired of the game and hit him. The two vanished in a tempest of small fists beneath the surface of the table, while the others continued with their meal as before, paying no attention to the shrieks and screams from below.
At last the girl in grey put her spoon to one side, slammed the side of her fist on the table and stood up. Slowly the hubbub around her died. The two combatants rather sheepishly regained their places.