Charlotte's Web (3 page)

“Get around behind him, Lurvy,” said Mr. Zuckerman, “and drive him toward the barn! And take it easy—don't rush him! I'll go and get a bucket of slops.”

The news of Wilbur's escape spread rapidly among the animals on the place. Whenever any creature broke loose on Zuckerman's farm, the event was of great interest to the others. The goose shouted to the nearest cow that Wilbur was free, and soon all the cows knew. Then one of the cows told one of the sheep, and soon all the sheep knew. The lambs learned about it from their mothers. 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. “Wilbur's out,” they said. Every animal stirred and lifted its head and became excited to know that one of his friends had got free and was no longer penned up or tied fast.

Wilbur didn't know what to do or which way to run. It seemed as though everybody was after him. “If this is what it's like to be free,” he thought, “I believe I'd rather be penned up in my own yard.”

The cocker spaniel was sneaking up on him from one
side, Lurvy the hired man was sneaking up on him from the other side. Mrs. Zuckerman stood ready to head him off if he started for the garden, and now Mr. Zuckerman was coming down toward him carrying a pail. “This is really awful,” thought Wilbur. “Why doesn't Fern come?” He began to cry.

The goose took command and began to give orders.

“Don't just stand there, Wilbur! Dodge about, dodge about!” cried the goose. “Skip around, run toward me, slip in and out, in and out, in and out! Make for the woods! Twist and turn!”

The cocker spaniel sprang for Wilbur's hind leg. Wilbur jumped and ran. Lurvy reached out and grabbed. Mrs. Zuckerman screamed at Lurvy. The goose cheered for Wilbur. Wilbur dodged between
Lurvy's legs. Lurvy missed Wilbur and grabbed the spaniel instead. “Nicely done, nicely done!” cried the goose. “Try it again, try it again!”

“Run downhill!” suggested the cows.

“Run toward me!” yelled the gander.

“Run uphill!” cried the sheep.

“Turn and twist!” honked the goose.

“Jump and dance!” said the rooster.

“Look out for Lurvy!” called the cows.

“Look out for Zuckerman!” yelled the gander.

“Watch out for the dog!” cried the sheep.

“Listen to me, listen to me!” screamed the goose.

Poor Wilbur was dazed and frightened by this hullabaloo. He didn't like being the center of all this fuss. He tried to follow the instructions his friends were giving him, but he couldn't run downhill and uphill at the same time, and he couldn't turn and twist when he was jumping and dancing, and he was crying so hard he could barely see anything that was happening. After all, Wilbur was a very young pig—not much more than a baby, really. He wished Fern were there to take him in her arms and comfort him. When he looked up and saw Mr. Zuckerman standing quite close to him, holding a pail of warm slops, he felt relieved. He lifted his nose and sniffed. The smell was delicious—warm milk, potato skins, wheat middlings, Kellogg's Corn Flakes, and a popover left from the Zuckermans' breakfast.

“Come, pig!” said Mr. Zuckerman, tapping the pail. “Come pig!”

Wilbur took a step toward the pail.

“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.”

Wilbur didn't care. The food smelled appetizing. He took another step toward the pail.

“Pig, pig!” said Mr. Zuckerman in a kind voice, and began walking slowly toward the barnyard, looking all about him innocently, as if he didn't know that a little white pig was following along behind him.

“You'll be sorry-sorry-sorry,” called the goose.

Wilbur didn't care. He kept walking toward the pail of slops.

“You'll miss your freedom,” honked the goose. “An hour of freedom is worth a barrel of slops.”

Wilbur didn't care.

When Mr. Zuckerman reached the pigpen, he climbed over the fence and poured the slops into the trough. Then he pulled the loose board away from the fence, so that there was a wide hole for Wilbur to walk through.

“Reconsider, reconsider!” cried the goose.

Wilbur paid no attention. He stepped through the fence into his yard. He walked to the trough and took a long drink of slops, sucking in the milk hungrily and chewing the popover. It was good to be home again.

While Wilbur ate, Lurvy fetched a hammer and some 8-penny nails and nailed the board in place. Then he and Mr. Zuckerman leaned lazily on the fence and Mr. Zuckerman scratched Wilbur's back with a stick.

“He's quite a pig,” said Lurvy.

“Yes, he'll make a good pig,” said Mr. Zuckerman.

Wilbur heard the words of praise. He felt the warm milk inside his stomach. He felt the pleasant rubbing of the stick along his itchy back. He felt peaceful and happy and sleepy. This had been a tiring afternoon. It was still only about four o'clock but Wilbur was ready for bed.

“I'm really too young to go out into the world alone,” he thought as he lay down.

T
HE NEXT day was rainy and dark. Rain fell on the roof of the barn and dripped steadily from the eaves. Rain fell in the barnyard and ran in crooked courses down into the lane where thistles and pigweed grew. 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. When the sheep tired of standing in the rain, they walked slowly up the lane and into the fold.

Rain upset Wilbur's plans. Wilbur had planned to go out, this day, and dig a new hole in his yard. He had other plans, too. His plans for the day went something like this:

Breakfast at six-thirty. Skim milk, crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts, wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup sticking to them, potato skins, leftover custard pudding with raisins, and bits of Shredded Wheat.

Breakfast would be finished at seven.

From seven to eight, Wilbur planned to have a talk
with Templeton, the rat that lived under his trough. Talking with Templeton was not the most interesting occupation in the world but it was better than nothing.

From eight to nine, Wilbur planned to take a nap outdoors in the sun.

From nine to eleven he planned to dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find something good to eat buried in the dirt.

From eleven to twelve he planned to stand still and watch flies on the boards, watch bees in the clover, and watch swallows in the air.

Twelve o'clock—lunchtime. Middlings, warm water, apple parings, meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper off a package of cheese. Lunch would be over at one.

From one to two, Wilbur planned to sleep.

From two to three, he planned to scratch itchy places by rubbing against the fence.

From three to four, he planned to stand perfectly still and think of what it was like to be alive, and to wait for Fern.

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.

Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking about these plans.
He awoke at six and saw the rain, and it seemed as though he couldn't bear it.

“I get everything all beautifully planned out and it has to go and rain,” he said.

For a while he stood gloomily indoors. Then he walked to the door and looked out. Drops of rain struck his face. His yard was cold and wet. His trough had an inch of rainwater in it. Templeton was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you out there, Templeton?” called Wilbur. There was no answer. Suddenly Wilbur felt lonely and friendless.

“One day just like another,” he groaned. “I'm very young, I have no real friend here in the barn, it's going to rain all morning and all afternoon, and Fern won't come in such bad weather. Oh,
honestly
!” And Wilbur was crying again, for the second time in two days.

At six-thirty Wilbur heard the banging of a pail. Lurvy was standing outside in the rain, stirring up breakfast.

“C'mon, pig!” said Lurvy.

Wilbur did not budge. Lurvy dumped the slops, scraped the pail, and walked away. He noticed that something was wrong with the pig.

Wilbur didn't want food, he wanted love. He wanted a friend—someone who would play with him. He mentioned this to the goose, who was sitting
quietly in a corner of the sheepfold.

“Will you come over and play with me?” he asked.

“Sorry, sonny, sorry,” said the goose. “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.”

“Well, I didn't think you were expecting woodpeckers,” said Wilbur, bitterly.

Wilbur next tried one of the lambs.

“Will you please play with me?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” said the lamb. “In the first place, I cannot get into your pen, as I am not old enough to jump over the fence. In the second place, I am not interested in pigs. Pigs mean less than nothing to me.”

“What do you mean,
less
than nothing?” replied Wilbur. “I don't think there is any such thing as
less
than nothing. Nothing is absolutely the limit of nothingness. It's the lowest you can go. It's the end of the line. How can something be less than nothing? If there were something that was less than nothing, then nothing would not be nothing, it would be something—even though it's just a very little bit of something. But if nothing is
nothing
, then nothing has nothing that is less than
it
is.”

“Oh, be quiet!” said the lamb. “Go play by yourself! I don't play with pigs.”

Sadly, Wilbur lay down and listened to the rain. Soon he saw the rat climbing down a slanting board that he used as a stairway.

“Will you play with me, Templeton?” asked Wilbur.

“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 merry-maker.
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. The tunnel enabled him to get from the barn to his hiding place under the pig trough without coming out into the open. He had tunnels and runways all over Mr. Zuckerman's farm and could get from one place to another without being seen. Usually he slept during the daytime and was abroad only after dark.