Charlotte's Web: Chapters 8–12

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

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

“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!”

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.

“Yes, indeed,” replied Templeton, who saved string. “No trouble at all. Anything to oblige.”

“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.

“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.”

“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…”

“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…”

Wilbur heard the trill of the tree toad and the occasional slamming of the kitchen door.

They thrust their little necks out and kept up a musical whistling, like a tiny troupe of pipers.

“Well,” replied Charlotte, “you must try to build yourself up. I want you to get plenty of sleep, and stop worrying. Never hurry and never worry! Chew your food thoroughly and eat every bit of it, except you must leave just enough for Templeton. Gain weight and stay well—that’s the way you can help. Keep fit, and don’t lose your nerve. Do you think you understand?”

“I was just thinking,” said the spider, “that people are very gullible.”

Then you straddled the knot, so that it acted as a seat. Then you got up all your nerve, took a deep breath, and jumped.

He was just about to raise his stick to hit Charlotte when he lost his balance. He swayed and toppled and landed on the edge of Wilbur’s trough.

Templeton, who had been resting in his home, scuttled away into the barn.

“I’m delighted that the egg never hatched,” she gabbled.

“It pays to save things,” he said in his surly voice.

“Well,” said one of the lambs, “this whole business is all well and good for Charlotte, but what about the rest of us? The smell is unbearable. Who wants to live in a barn that is perfumed with rotten egg?”

Setting the pail down, he picked up the stick that Avery had dropped and pried the trough up. “Rats!” he said.

Wilbur ate heartily.

Astride her web, Charlotte sat moodily eating a horsefly and thinking about the future.

She worked slowly but steadily while the other creatures drowsed.

Charlotte, sleepy after her night’s exertions, smiled as she watched.

“You don’t suppose that that spider...” began Mr. Zuckerman—but he shook his head and didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he walked solemnly back up to the house and spoke to his wife.

A look of complete bewilderment came over Mrs. Zuckerman’s face.

“But we have received a sign, Edith—a mysterious sign. A miracle has happened on this farm. There is a large spider’s web in the doorway of the barn cellar, right over the pigpen, and when Lurvy went to feed the pig this morning, he noticed the web because it was foggy, and you know how a spider’s web looks very distinct in a fog. And right spang in the middle of the web there were the words ‘Some Pig.’

“We don’t know what it means yet, but perhaps if I give thought to it, I can explain it in my sermon next Sunday. There can be no doubt that you have a most unusual pig. I intend to speak about it in my sermon and point out the fact that this community has been visited with a wondrous animal. By the way, does the pig have a name?”

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Zuckerman. “My little niece calls him Wilbur. She’s a rather queer child—full of notions. She raised the pig on a bottle and I bought him from her when he was a month old.”

The news of the wonderful pig spread clear up into the hills, and farmers came rattling down in buggies and buckboards, to stand hour after hour at Wilbur’s pen admiring the miraculous animal.

“You sound like three ganders,” muttered Charlotte. “Why can’t you just say ‘here’? Why do you have to repeat everything?”
“It’s my idio-idio-idiosyncrasy,” replied the gander.

“Cut that down to one ‘terrific’ and it will do very nicely,” said Charlotte. “I think ‘terrific’ might impress Zuckerman.”

“I bet I can get him to help,” said the old sheep. “I’ll appeal to his baser instincts, of which he has plenty. Here he comes now. Everybody keep quiet while I put the matter up to him!”

“I bet I can get him to help,” said the old sheep. “I’ll appeal to his baser instincts, of which he has plenty. Here he comes now. Everybody keep quiet while I put the matter up to him!”

You know that. Wilbur’s food is your food; therefore Wilbur’s destiny and your destiny are closely linked.

Templeton’s whiskers quivered.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said gruffly. “I’m making a trip to the dump tomorrow afternoon. I’ll bring back a magazine clipping if I can find one.”

“Thanks,” said Charlotte. “The meeting is now adjourned. I have a busy evening ahead of me. I’ve got to tear my web apart and write ‘Terrific.’”