Charlotte's Web: Chapters 1–4

“He’s yours,” said Mr. Arable. “Saved from an untimely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness.”

“Let’s see it!” said Avery, setting his gun down. “You call that miserable thing a pig? That’s a fine specimen of a pig—it’s no bigger than a white rat.”

“Let’s see it!” said Avery, setting his gun down. “You call that miserable thing a pig? That’s a fine specimen of a pig—it’s no bigger than a white rat.”

“Can I have a pig, too, Pop?” asked Avery.
“No, I only distribute pigs to early risers,” said Mr. Arable.

“Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let’s eat!”

“Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let’s eat!”

She just sat and stared out of the window, thinking what a blissful world it was and how lucky she was to have entire charge of a pig.

Fern peered through the door. Wilbur was poking the straw with his snout. In a short time he had dug a tunnel in the straw.

One warm afternoon, Fern and Avery put on bathing suits and went down to the brook for a swim.

Next day Wilbur was taken from his home under the apple tree and went to live in a manure pile in the cellar of Zuckerman’s barn.

The barn was very large. It was very old. It smelled of hay and it smelled of manure. It smelled of the perspiration of tired horses and the wonderful sweet breath of patient cows.

It smelled of grain and of harness dressing and of axle grease and of rubber boots and of new rope.

But mostly it smelled of hay, for there was always hay in the great loft up overhead.

The barn had stalls on the main floor for the work horses, tie-ups on the main floor for the cows, a sheepfold down below for the sheep, a pigpen down below for Wilbur, and it was full of all sorts of things that you find in barns: ladders, grindstones, pitch forks, monkey wrenches, scythes, lawn mowers, snow shovels, ax handles, milk pails, water buckets, empty grain sacks, and rusty rat traps.

“There’s never anything to do around here,” he thought. He walked slowly to his food trough and sniffed to see if anything had been overlooked at lunch.

“Anywhere you like, anywhere you like,” said the goose. “Go down through the orchard, root up the sod! Go down through the garden, dig up the radishes! Root up everything! Eat grass! Look for corn! Look for oats! Run all over! Skip and dance, jump and prance! Go down through the orchard and stroll in the woods! The world is a wonderful place when you’re young.”

“Anywhere you like, anywhere you like,” said the goose. “Go down through the orchard, root up the sod! Go down through the garden, dig up the radishes! Root up everything! Eat grass! Look for corn! Look for oats! Run all over! Skip and dance, jump and prance! Go down through the orchard and stroll in the woods! The world is a wonderful place when you’re young.”

The goose heard the racket and she, too, started hollering.

The cocker spaniel heard the commotion and he ran out from the barn to join the chase.

The horses, in their stalls in the barn, pricked up their ears when they heard the goose hollering; and soon the horses had caught on to what was happening.

“Run toward me!” yelled the gander.

Poor Wilbur was dazed and frightened by this hullabaloo.

“No-no-no!” said the goose. “It’s the old pail trick, Wilbur. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it! He’s trying to lure you back into captivity-ivity. He’s appealing to your stomach.”

“No-no-no!” said the goose. “It’s the old pail trick, Wilbur. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it! He’s trying to lure you back into captivity-ivity. He’s appealing to your stomach.”

“No-no-no!” said the goose. “It’s the old pail trick, Wilbur. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it! He’s trying to lure you back into captivity-ivity. He’s appealing to your stomach.”

Rain fell on the roof of the barn and dripped steadily from the eaves.

Rain spattered against Mrs. Zuckerman’s kitchen windows and came gushing out of the downspouts.

Rain fell on the backs of the sheep as they grazed in the meadow.

Rain spattered against Mrs. Zuckerman’s kitchen windows and came gushing out of the downspouts.

At four would come supper. Skim milk, provender, leftover sandwich from Lurvy’s lunchbox, prune skins, a morsel of this, a bit of that, fried potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little more of this, a little more of that, a piece of baked apple, a scrap of upsidedown cake.

At four would come supper. Skim milk, provender, leftover sandwich from Lurvy’s lunchbox, prune skins, a morsel of this, a bit of that, fried potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little more of this, a little more of that, a piece of baked apple, a scrap of upsidedown cake.

“I’m sitting-sitting on my eggs. Eight of them. Got to keep them toasty-oasty-oasty warm. I have to stay right here, I’m no flibberty-ibberty-gibbet. I do not play when there are eggs to hatch. I’m expecting goslings.”

“Play?” said Templeton, twirling his whiskers. “Play? I hardly know the meaning of the word.”
“Well,” said Wilbur, “it means to have fun, to frolic, to run and skip and make merry.”

“I never do those things if I can avoid them,” replied the rat, sourly. “I prefer to spend my time eating, gnawing, spying, and hiding. I am a glutton but not a merrymaker. Right now I am on my way to your trough to eat your breakfast, since you haven’t got sense enough to eat it yourself.”

And Templeton, the rat, crept stealthily along the wall and disappeared into a private tunnel that he had dug between the door and the trough in Wilbur’s yard.

Templeton was a crafty rat, and he had things pretty much his own way.

The tunnel was an example of his skill and cunning.

This was almost more than Wilbur could stand: on this dreary, rainy day to see his breakfast being eaten by somebody else.

Friendless, dejected, and hungry, he threw himself down in the manure and sobbed.

He didn’t know whether he could endure the awful loneliness any more.