Charlotte's Web Page 8

  "When are you going to spin a web?" asked Wilbur.

  "This afternoon, late, if I'm not too tired," said Charlotte. "The least thing tires me these days. I don't seem to have the energy I once had. My age, I guess."

  Wilbur looked at his friend. She looked rather swollen and she seemed listless.

  "I'm awfully sorry to hear that you're feeling poorly, Charlotte," he said. "Perhaps if you spin a web and catch a couple of flies you'll feel better."

  "Perhaps," she said, wearily. "But I feel like the end of a long day." Clinging upside down to the ceiling, she settled down for a nap, leaving Wilbur very much worried.

  All morning people wandered past Wilbur's pen. Dozens and dozens of strangers stopped to stare at him and to admire his silky white coat, his curly tail, his kind and radiant expression. Then they would move on to the next pen where the bigger pig lay. Wilbur heard several people make favorable remarks about Uncle's great size. He couldn't help overhearing these remarks, and he couldn't help worrying. "And now, with Charlotte not feeling well . . ." he thought. "Oh, dear!"

  All morning Templeton slept quietly under the straw. The day grew fiercely hot. At noon the Zuckermans and the Arables returned to the pigpen. Then, a few minutes later, Fern and Avery showed up. Fern had a monkey doll in her arms and was eating Crackerjack. Avery had a balloon tied to his ear and was chewing a candied apple. The children were hot and dirty.

  "Isn't it hot?" said Mrs. Zuckerman.

  "It's terribly hot," said Mrs. Arable, fanning herself with an advertisement of a deep freeze.

  One by one they climbed into the truck and opened lunch boxes. The sun beat down on everything. Nobody seemed hungry.

  "When are the judges going to decide about Wilbur?" asked Mrs. Zuckerman.

  "Not till tomorrow," said Mr. Zuckerman.

  Lurvy appeared, carrying an Indian blanket that he had won.

  "That's just what we need," said Avery. "A blanket."

  "Of course it is," replied Lurvy. And he spread the blanket across the sideboards of the truck so that it was like a little tent. The children sat in the shade, under the blanket, and felt better.

  After lunch, they stretched out and fell asleep.

  XVIII. The Cool of the Evening

  IN THE cool of the evening, when shadows darkened the Fair Grounds, Templeton crept from the crate and looked around. Wilbur lay asleep in the straw. Charlotte was building a web. Templeton's keen nose detected many fine smells in the air. The rat was hungry and thirsty. He decided to go exploring. Without saying anything to anybody, he started off.

  "Bring me back a word!" Charlotte called after him. "I shall be writing tonight for the last time."

  The rat mumbled something to himself and disappeared into the shadows. He did not like being treated like a messenger boy.

  After the heat of the day, the evening came as a welcome relief to all. The Ferris wheel was lighted now. It went round and round in the sky and seemed twice as high as by day. There were lights on the midway, and you could hear the crackle of the gambling machines and the music of the merry-go-round and the voice of the man in the beano booth calling numbers.

  The children felt refreshed after their nap. Fern met her friend Henry Fussy, and he invited her to ride with him in the Ferris wheel. He even bought a ticket for her, so it didn't cost her anything. When Mrs. Arable happened to look up into the starry sky and saw her little daughter sitting with Henry Fussy and going higher and higher into the air, and saw how happy Fern looked, she just shook her head. "My, my!" she said. "Henry Fussy. Think of that!"

  Templeton kept out of sight. In the tall grass behind the cattle barn he found a folded newspaper. Inside it were leftovers from somebody's lunch: a deviled ham sandwich, a piece of Swiss cheese, part of a hard-boiled egg, and the core of a wormy apple. The rat crawled in and ate everything. Then he tore a word out of the paper, rolled it up, and started back to Wilbur's pen.

  Charlotte had her web almost finished when Templeton returned, carrying the newspaper clipping. She had left a space in the middle of the web. At this hour, no people were around the pigpen, so the rat and the spider and the pig were by themselves.

  "I hope you brought a good one," Charlotte said. "It is the last word I shall ever write."

  "Here," said Templeton, unrolling the paper.

  "What does it say?" asked Charlotte. "You'll have to read it for me."

  "It says 'Humble,'" replied the rat.

  "Humble?" said Charlotte. "'Humble' has two meanings. It means 'not proud' and it means 'near the ground.' That's Wilbur all over. He's not proud and he's near the ground."

  "Well, I hope you're satisfied," sneered the rat. "I'm not going to spend all my time fetching and carrying. I came to this Fair to enjoy myself, not to deliver papers."

  "You've been very helpful," Charlotte said. "Run along, if you want to see more of the Fair."

  The rat grinned. "I'm going to make a night of it," he said. "The old sheep was right--this Fair is a rat's paradise. What eating! And what drinking! And everywhere good hiding and good hunting. Bye, bye, my humble Wilbur! Fare thee well, Charlotte, you old schemer! This will be a night to remember in a rat's life."

  He vanished into the shadows.

  Charlotte went back to her work. It was quite dark now. In the distance, fireworks began going off--rockets, scattering fiery balls in the sky. By the time the Arables and the Zuckermans and Lurvy returned from the grandstand, Charlotte had finished her web. The word HUMBLE was woven neatly in the center. Nobody noticed it in the darkness. Everyone was tired and happy.

  Fern and Avery climbed into the truck and lay down. They pulled the Indian blanket over them. Lurvy gave Wilbur a forkful of fresh straw. Mr. Arable patted him. "Time for us to go home," he said to the pig. "See you tomorrow."

  The grownups climbed slowly into the truck and Wilbur heard the engine start and then heard the truck moving away in low speed. He would have felt lonely and homesick, had Charlotte not been with him. He never felt lonely when she was near. In the distance he could still hear the music of the merry-go-round.

  As he was dropping off to sleep he spoke to Charlotte.

  "Sing me that song again, about the dung and the dark," he begged.

  "Not tonight," she said in a low voice. "I'm too tired." Her voice didn't seem to come from her web.

  "Where are you?" asked Wilbur. "I can't see you. Are you on your web?"

  "I'm back here," she answered. "Up in this back corner."

  "Why aren't you on your web?" asked Wilbur. "You almost never leave your web."

  "I've left it tonight," she said.

  Wilbur closed his eyes. "Charlotte," he said, after a while, "do you really think Zuckerman will let me live and not kill me when the cold weather comes? Do you really think so?"

  "Of course," said Charlotte. "You are a famous pig and you are a good pig. Tomorrow you will probably win a prize. The whole world will hear about you. Zuckerman will be proud and happy to own such a pig. You have nothing to fear, Wilbur--nothing to worry about. Maybe you'll live forever--who knows? And now, go to sleep."

  For a while there was no sound. Then Wilbur's voice:

  "What are you doing up there, Charlotte?"

  "Oh, making something," she said. "Making something, as usual."

  "Is it something for me?" asked Wilbur.

  "No," said Charlotte. "It's something for me, for a change."

  "Please tell me what it is," begged Wilbur.

  "I'll tell you in the morning," she said. "When the first light comes into the sky and the sparrows stir and the cows rattle their chains, when the rooster crows and the stars fade, when early cars whisper along the highway, you look up here and I'll show you something. I will show you my masterpiece."

  Before she finished the sentence, Wilbur was asleep. She could tell by the sound of his breathing that he was sleeping peacefully, deep in the straw.

  Miles away, at the Arables' house, the men sat around the kitchen table eating
a dish of canned peaches and talking over the events of the day. Upstairs, Avery was already in bed and asleep. Mrs. Arable was tucking Fern into bed.

  "Did you have a good time at the Fair?" she asked as she kissed her daughter.

  Fern nodded. "I had the best time I have ever had anywhere or any time in all of my whole life."

  "Well!" said Mrs. Arable. "Isn't that nice!"

  XIX. The Egg Sac

  NEXT morning when the first light came into the sky and the sparrows stirred in the trees, when the cows rattled their chains and the rooster crowed and the early automobiles went whispering along the road, Wilbur awoke and looked for Charlotte. He saw her up overhead in a corner near the back of his pen. She was very quiet. Her eight legs were spread wide. She seemed to have shrunk during the night. Next to her, attached to the ceiling, Wilbur saw a curious object. It was a sort of sac, or cocoon. It was peach-colored and looked as though it were made of cotton candy.

  "Are you awake, Charlotte?" he said softly.

  "Yes," came the answer.

  "What is that nifty little thing? Did you make it?"

  "I did indeed," replied Charlotte in a weak voice.

  "Is it a plaything?"

  "Plaything? I should say not. It is my egg sac, my magnum opus."

  "I don't know what a magnum opus is," said Wilbur.

  "That's Latin," explained Charlotte. "It means 'great work.' This egg sac is my great work--the finest thing I have ever made."

  "What's inside it?" asked Wilbur. "Eggs?"

  "Five hundred and fourteen of them," she replied.

  "Five hundred and fourteen?" said Wilbur. "You're kidding."

  "No, I'm not. I counted them. I got started counting, so I kept on--just to keep my mind occupied."

  "It's a perfectly beautiful egg sac," said Wilbur, feeling as happy as though he had constructed it himself.

  "Yes, it is pretty," replied Charlotte, patting the sac with her two front legs. "Anyway, I can guarantee that it is strong. It's made out of the toughest material I have. It is also waterproof. The eggs are inside and will be warm and dry."

  "Charlotte," said Wilbur dreamily, "are you really going to have five hundred and fourteen children?"

  "If nothing happens, yes," she said. "Of course, they won't show up till next spring." Wilbur noticed that Charlotte's voice sounded sad.

  "What makes you sound so down-hearted? I should think you'd be terribly happy about this."

  "Oh, don't pay any attention to me," said Charlotte. "I just don't have much pep any more. I guess I feel sad because I won't ever see my children."

  "What do you mean you won't see your children! Of course you will. We'll all see them. It's going to be simply wonderful next spring in the barn cellar with five hundred and fourteen baby spiders running around all over the place. And the geese will have a new set of goslings, and the sheep will have their new lambs . . ."

  "Maybe," said Charlotte quietly. "However, I have a feeling I'm not going to see the results of last night's efforts. I don't feel good at all. I think I'm languishing, to tell you the truth."

  Wilbur didn't understand the word "languish" and he hated to bother Charlotte by asking her to explain. But he was so worried he felt he had to ask.

  "What does 'languishing' mean?"

  "It means I'm slowing up, feeling my age. I'm not young any more, Wilbur. But I don't want you to worry about me. This is your big day today. Look at my web--doesn't it show up well with the dew on it?"

  Charlotte's web never looked more beautiful than it looked this morning. Each strand held dozens of bright drops of early morning dew. The light from the east struck it and made it all plain and clear. It was a perfect piece of designing and building. In another hour or two, a steady stream of people would pass by, admiring it, and reading it, and looking at Wilbur, and marveling at the miracle.

  As Wilbur was studying the web, a pair of whiskers and a sharp face appeared. Slowly Templeton dragged himself across the pen and threw himself down in a corner.

  "I'm back," he said in a husky voice. "What a night!"

  The rat was swollen to twice his normal size. His stomach was as big around as a jelly jar.

  "What a night!" he repeated, hoarsely. "What feasting and carousing! A real gorge! I must have eaten the remains of thirty lunches. Never have I seen such leavings, and everything well-ripened and seasoned with the passage of time and the heat of the day. Oh, it was rich, my friends, rich!"

  "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Charlotte in disgust. "It would serve you right if you had an acute attack of indigestion."

  "Don't worry about my stomach," snarled Templeton. "It can handle anything. And by the way, I've got some bad news. As I came past that pig next door--the one that calls himself Uncle--I noticed a blue tag on the front of his pen. That means he has won first prize. I guess you're licked, Wilbur. You might as well relax--nobody is going to hang any medal on you. Furthermore, I wouldn't be surprised if Zuckerman changes his mind about you. Wait till he gets hankering for some fresh pork and smoked ham and crisp bacon! He'll take the knife to you, my boy."

  "Be still, Templeton!" said Charlotte. "You're too stuffed and bloated to know what you're saying. Don't pay any attention to him, Wilbur!"

  Wilbur tried not to think about what the rat had just said. He decided to change the subject.

  "Templeton," said Wilbur, "if you weren't so dopey, you would have noticed that Charlotte has made an egg sac. She is going to become a mother. For your information, there are five hundred and fourteen eggs in that peachy little sac."

  "Is this true?" asked the rat, eyeing the sac suspiciously.

  "Yes, it's true," sighed Charlotte.

  "Congratulations!" murmured Templeton. "This has been a night!" He closed his eyes, pulled some straw over himself, and dropped off into a deep sleep. Wilbur and Charlotte were glad to be rid of him for a while.

  At nine o'clock, Mr. Arable's truck rolled into the Fair Grounds and came to a stop at Wilbur's pen. Everybody climbed out.

  "Look!" cried Fern. "Look at Charlotte's web! Look what it says!"

  The grownups and the children joined hands and stood there, studying the new sign.

  "'Humble,'" said Mr. Zuckerman. "Now isn't that just the word for Wilbur!"

  Everyone rejoiced to find that the miracle of the web had been repeated. Wilbur gazed up lovingly into their faces. He looked very humble and very grateful. Fern winked at Charlotte. Lurvy soon got busy. He poured a bucket of warm slops into the trough, and while Wilbur ate his breakfast Lurvy scratched him gently with a smooth stick.

  "Wait a minute!" cried Avery. "Look at this!" He pointed to the blue tag on Uncle's pen. "This pig has won first prize already."

  The Zuckermans and the Arables stared at the tag. Mrs. Zuckerman began to cry. Nobody said a word. They just stared at the tag. Then they stared at Uncle. Then they stared at the tag again. Lurvy took out an enormous handkerchief and blew his nose very loud--so loud, in fact, that the noise was heard by stableboys over at the horse barn.

  "Can I have some money?" asked Fern. "I want to go out on the midway."

  "You stay right where you are!" said her mother. Tears came to Fern's eyes.

  "What's everybody crying about?" asked Mr. Zuckerman. "Let's get busy! Edith, bring the buttermilk!"

  Mrs. Zuckerman wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. She went to the truck and came back with a gallon jar of buttermilk.

  "Bath time!" said Zuckerman, cheerfully. He and Mrs. Zuckerman and Avery climbed into Wilbur's pen. Avery slowly poured buttermilk on Wilbur's head and back, and as it trickled down his sides and cheeks, Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman rubbed it into his hair and skin. Passersby stopped to watch. Pretty soon quite a crowd had gathered. Wilbur grew beautifully white and smooth. The morning sun shone through his pink ears.

  "He isn't as big as that pig next door," remarked one bystander, "but he's cleaner. That's what I like."

  "So do I," said another man.

  "He's
humble, too," said a woman, reading the sign on the web.

  Everybody who visited the pigpen had a good word to say about Wilbur. Everyone admired the web. And of course nobody noticed Charlotte.

  Suddenly a voice was heard on the loud speaker.

  "Attention, please!" it said. "Will Mr. Homer Zuckerman bring his famous pig to the judges' booth in front of the grandstand. A special award will be made there in twenty minutes. Everyone is invited to attend. Crate your pig, please, Mr. Zuckerman, and report to the judges' booth promptly!"

  For a moment after this announcement, the Arables and the Zuckermans were unable to speak or move. Then Avery picked up a handful of straw and threw it high in the air and gave a loud yell. The straw fluttered down like confetti into Fern's hair. Mr. Zuckerman hugged Mrs. Zuckerman. Mr. Arable kissed Mrs. Arable. Avery kissed Wilbur. Lurvy shook hands with everybody. Fern hugged her mother. Avery hugged Fern. Mrs. Arable hugged Mrs. Zuckerman.

  Up overhead, in the shadows of the ceiling, Charlotte crouched unseen, her front legs encircling her egg sac. Her heart was not beating as strongly as usual and she felt weary and old, but she was sure at last that she had saved Wilbur's life, and she felt peaceful and contented.

  "We have no time to lose!" shouted Mr. Zuckerman. "Lurvy, help with the crate!"

  "Can I have some money?" asked Fern.

  "You wait!" said Mrs. Arable. "Can't you see everybody is busy?"

  "Put that empty buttermilk jar into the truck!" commanded Mr. Arable. Avery grabbed the jar and rushed to the truck.

  "Does my hair look all right?" asked Mrs. Zuckerman.

  "Looks fine," snapped Mr. Zuckerman, as he and Lurvy set the crate down in front of Wilbur.

  "You didn't even look at my hair!" said Mrs. Zuckerman.

  "You're all right, Edith," said Mrs. Arable. "Just keep calm."

  Templeton, asleep in the straw, heard the commotion and awoke. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but when he saw the men shoving Wilbur into the crate he made up his mind to go along. He watched his chance and when no one was looking he crept into the crate and buried himself in the straw at the bottom.