Charlotte's Web (6 page)

“The goose did what?” asked Mrs. Arable, gazing at her daughter with a queer, worried look.

“Told Templeton she didn't want the egg any more,” repeated Fern.

“Who is Templeton?” asked Mrs. Arable.

“He's the rat,” replied Fern. “None of us like him much.”

“Who's ‘us'?” asked Mr. Arable.

“Oh, everybody in the barn cellar. Wilbur and the
sheep and the lambs and the goose and the gander and the goslings and Charlotte and me.”

“Charlotte?” said Mrs. Arable. “Who's Charlotte?”

“She's Wilbur's best friend. She's terribly clever.”

“What does she look like?” asked Mrs. Arable.

“Well-l,” said Fern, thoughtfully, “she has eight legs. All spiders do, I guess.”

“Charlotte is a spider?” asked Fern's mother.

Fern nodded. “A big grey one. She has a web across the top of Wilbur's doorway. She catches flies and sucks their blood. Wilbur adores her.”

“Does he really?” said Mrs. Arable, rather vaguely. She was staring at Fern with a worried expression on her face.

“Oh, yes, Wilbur adores Charlotte,” said Fern. “Do you know what Charlotte said when the goslings hatched?”

“I haven't the faintest idea,” said Mr. Arable. “Tell us.”

“Well, when the first gosling stuck its little head out from under the goose, I was sitting on my stool in the corner and Charlotte was on her web. She made a speech. She said: ‘I am sure that every one of us here in the barn cellar will be gratified to learn that after four weeks of unremitting effort and patience on the part of the goose, she now has something to show for
it.' Don't you think that was a pleasant thing for her to say?”

“Yes, I do,” said Mrs. Arable. “And now, Fern, it's time to get ready for Sunday School. And tell Avery to get ready. And this afternoon you can tell me more about what goes on in Uncle Homer's barn. Aren't you spending quite a lot of time there? You go there almost every afternoon, don't you?”

“I like it there,” replied Fern. She wiped her mouth and ran upstairs. After she had left the room, Mrs. Arable spoke in a low voice to her husband.

“I worry about Fern,” she said. “Did you hear the way she rambled on about the animals, pretending that they talked?”

Mr. Arable chuckled. “Maybe they do talk,” he said. “I've sometimes wondered. At any rate, don't worry about Fern—she's just got a lively imagination. Kids think they hear all sorts of things.”

“Just the same, I
do
worry about her,” replied Mrs. Arable. “I think I shall ask Dr. Dorian about her the next time I see him. He loves Fern almost as much as we do, and I want him to know how queerly she is acting about that pig and everything. I don't think it's normal. You know perfectly well animals don't talk.”

Mr. Arable grinned. “Maybe our ears aren't as sharp as Fern's,” he said.

A
SPIDER'S web is stronger than it looks. Although it is made of thin, delicate strands, the web is not easily broken. However, a web gets torn every day by the insects that kick around in it, and a spider must rebuild it when it gets full of holes. Charlotte liked to do her weaving during the late afternoon, and Fern liked to sit nearby and watch. One afternoon she heard a most interesting conversation and witnessed a strange event.

“You have awfully hairy legs, Charlotte,” said Wilbur, as the spider busily worked at her task.

“My legs are hairy for a good reason,” replied Charlotte. “Furthermore, each leg of mine has seven sections—the coxa, the trochanter, the femur, the patella, the tibia, the metatarsus, and the tarsus.”

Wilbur sat bolt upright. “You're kidding,” he said.

“No, I'm not, either.”

“Say those names again, I didn't catch them the first time.”

“Coxa, trochanter, femur, patella, tibia, metatarsus, and tarsus.”

“Goodness!” said Wilbur, looking down at his own chubby legs. “I don't think
my
legs have seven sections.”

“Well,” said Charlotte, “you and I lead different lives. You don't have to spin a web. That takes real leg work.”

“I could spin a web if I tried,” said Wilbur, boasting. “I've just never tried.”

“Let's see you do it,” said Charlotte. Fern chuckled softly, and her eyes grew wide with love for the pig.

“O.K.,” replied Wilbur. “You coach me and I'll spin one. It must be a lot of fun to spin a web. How do I start?”

“Take a deep breath!” said Charlotte, smiling. Wilbur breathed deeply. “Now climb to the highest place you can get to, like this.” Charlotte raced up to the top of the doorway. Wilbur scrambled to the top of the manure pile.

“Very good!” said Charlotte. “Now make an attachment with your spinnerets, hurl yourself into space, and let out a dragline as you go down!”

Wilbur hesitated a moment, then jumped out into the air. He glanced hastily behind to see if a piece of rope was following him to check his fall, but nothing seemed to be happening in his rear, and the next thing
he knew he landed with a thump. “Ooomp!” he grunted.

Charlotte laughed so hard her web began to sway.

“What did I do wrong?” asked the pig, when he recovered from his bump.

“Nothing,” said Charlotte. “It was a nice try.”

“I think I'll try again,” said Wilbur, cheerfully. “I believe what I need is a little piece of string to hold me.”

The pig walked out to his yard. “You there, Templeton?” he called. The rat poked his head out from under the trough.

“Got a little piece of string I could borrow?” asked Wilbur. “I need it to spin a web.”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Templeton, who saved string. “No trouble at all. Anything to oblige.” He crept down into his hole, pushed the goose egg out of the way, and returned with an old piece of dirty white string. Wilbur examined it.

“That's just the thing,” he said. “Tie one end to my tail, will you, Templeton?”

Wilbur crouched low, with his thin, curly tail toward the rat. Templeton seized the string, passed it around the end of the pig's tail, and tied two half hitches. Charlotte watched in delight. Like Fern, she was truly fond of Wilbur, whose smelly pen and stale food attracted the flies that she needed, and she was proud to see that
he was not a quitter and was willing to try again to spin a web.

While the rat and the spider and the little girl watched, Wilbur climbed again to the top of the manure pile, full of energy and hope.

“Everybody watch!” he cried. And summoning all his strength, he threw himself into the air, headfirst. The string trailed behind him. But as he had neglected to fasten the other end to anything, it didn't really do any good, and Wilbur landed with a thud, crushed and hurt. Tears came to his eyes. Templeton grinned. Charlotte just sat quietly. After a bit she spoke.

“You can't spin a web, Wilbur, and I advise you to put the idea out of your mind. You lack two things needed for spinning a web.”

“What are they?” asked Wilbur, sadly.

“You lack a set of spinnerets, and you lack know-how. But cheer up, you don't need a web. Zuckerman supplies you with three big meals a day. Why should you worry about trapping food?”

Wilbur sighed. “You're ever so much cleverer and brighter than I am, Charlotte. I guess I was just trying to show off. Serves me right.”

Templeton untied his string and took it back to his home. Charlotte returned to her weaving.

“You needn't feel too badly, Wilbur,” she said. “Not many creatures can spin webs. Even men aren't as good at it as spiders, although they
think
they're pretty good, and they'll
try
anything. Did you ever hear of the Queensborough Bridge?”

Wilbur shook his head. “Is it a web?”

“Sort of,” replied Charlotte. “But do you know how long it took men to build it? Eight whole years. My goodness, I would have starved to death waiting that long. I can make a web in a single evening.”

“What do people catch in the Queensborough Bridge—bugs?” asked Wilbur.

“No,” said Charlotte. “They don't catch anything. They just keep trotting back and forth across the bridge thinking there is something better on the other side. If they'd hang head-down at the top of the thing and wait quietly, maybe something good would come along. But no—with men it's rush, rush, rush, every minute. I'm glad I'm a sedentary spider.”

“What does sedentary mean?” asked Wilbur.

“Means I sit still a good part of the time and don't go wandering all over creation. I know a good thing when I see it, and my web is a good thing. I stay put and wait for what comes. Gives me a chance to think.”

“Well, I'm sort of sedentary myself, I guess,” said the pig. “I have to hang around here whether I want to or not. You know where I'd really like to be this evening?”

“Where?”

“In a forest looking for beechnuts and truffles and delectable roots, pushing leaves aside with my wonderful strong nose, searching and sniffing along the ground, smelling, smelling, smelling . . .”

“You smell just the way you are,” remarked a lamb who had just walked in. “I can smell you from here. You're the smelliest creature in the place.”

Wilbur hung his head. His eyes grew wet with tears. Charlotte noticed his embarrassment and she spoke sharply to the lamb.

“Let Wilbur alone!” she said. “He has a perfect right to smell, considering his surroundings. You're no bundle of sweet peas yourself. Furthermore, you are interrupting a very pleasant conversation. What were we talking about, Wilbur, when we were so rudely interrupted?”

“Oh, I don't remember,” said Wilbur. “It doesn't
make any difference. Let's not talk any more for a while, Charlotte. I'm getting sleepy. You go ahead and finish fixing your web and I'll just lie here and watch you. It's a lovely evening.” Wilbur stretched out on his side.

Twilight settled over Zuckerman's barn, and a feeling of peace. Fern knew it was almost suppertime but she couldn't bear to leave. Swallows passed on silent wings, in and out of the doorways, bringing food to their young ones. From across the road a bird sang “Whippoorwill, whippoorwill!” Lurvy sat down under an apple tree and lit his pipe; the animals sniffed the familiar smell of strong tobacco. Wilbur heard the trill of the tree toad and the occasional slamming of the kitchen door. All these sounds made him feel comfortable and happy, for he loved life and loved to be a part of the world on a summer evening. But as he lay there he remembered what the old sheep had told him. The thought of death came to him and he began to tremble with fear.

“Charlotte?” he said, softly.

“Yes, Wilbur?”

“I don't want to die.”

“Of course you don't,” said Charlotte in a comforting voice.

“I just love it here in the barn,” said Wilbur. “I love everything about this place.”

“Of course you do,” said Charlotte. “We all do.”

The goose appeared, followed by her seven goslings. They thrust their little necks out and kept up a musical whistling, like a tiny troupe of pipers. Wilbur listened to the sound with love in his heart.

“Charlotte?” he said.

“Yes?” said the spider.

“Were you serious when you promised you would keep them from killing me?”

“I was never more serious in my life. I am not going to let you die, Wilbur.”

“How are you going to save me?” asked Wilbur, whose curiosity was very strong on this point.

“Well,” said Charlotte, vaguely, “I don't really know. But I'm working on a plan.”

“That's wonderful,” said Wilbur. “How is the plan coming, Charlotte? Have you got very far with it? Is it coming along pretty well?” Wilbur was trembling again, but Charlotte was cool and collected.

“Oh, it's coming all right,” she said, lightly. “The plan is still in its early stages and hasn't completely shaped up yet, but I'm working on it.”