"Where's Papa going with that axe?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.

"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "One of the pigs that were borne last night is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."

"You mean kill it?" shrieked Fern. "Just because it is smaller than the others?" Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors.

"Please don't kill it!" she sobbed when she caught up with her father. "It's unfair."

Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the axe and tried to pull it out of her father's hand.

"All right," her father finally said. "I'll let you start it on a bottle, like a baby. Then you'll see what trouble a pig can be."

Fern loved the new-born pig the moment she saw it, and she selected the most beautiful name she could think of for him: Wilbur.

First Wilbur lived in a box near the stove in the kitchen, then he was moved outdoors to a small yard under an apple tree with a large wooden box full of straw specially fixed for Wilbur.

As soon as Fern got home from school in the afternoon, she would take Wilbur about of his yard and he would follow her around everywhere. And if Wilbur got tired, Fern would pick him up and put him in the doll carriage alongside the doll where he would close his eyes and go to sleep. Every day was a happy day. But when Wilbur was five weeks old, Mr. Arable said that he was now big enough to sell. Fern broke down and wept. But her father was firm about that. Finally he proposed to sell the pig to Fern’s uncle Homer Zuckerman who lived in the neighborhood where Fern could visit him as often as she liked. Next day Wilbur was sold for 6 dollars to the Zuckermans and moved to his new home, the manure pile in the cellar of Zuckerman’s barn. His new home, the manure pile in the lower part of the barn, was warm and comfortable. Fern came almost every day to visit Wilbur. She found an old milking stool where she sat quietly during the long afternoons, thinking and listening and watching Wilbur.

One day Wilbur awoke and saw rain pouring down.

"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 afternoon, and Fern won’t come in such bad weather."

He was so depressed, he didn’t even want the food that Lurvy, the hired man, dumped into his trough. He wanted love, a friend who played with him. But the goose was too busy keeping her eggs warm, the lamb was not interested in pigs and Templeton, the rat that lived under Wilbur’s trough, preferred to spend his time eating, gnawing, spying and hiding. Suddenly, in the evening when darkness settled over everything, Wilbur heard a small, rather pleasant voice.

"Do you want a friend, Wilbur?" it said. "I’ll be a friend to you. I’ve watched you all day and I like you."

"But I can’t see you," said Wilbur. "Where are you? And who are you?"

"I’m right up here," said the voice. "Go to sleep. You’ll see me in the morning."

Very early the next day Wilbur awoke.

"Oh, beautiful day, it is here at last! Today I shall find my friend." Wilbur looked everywhere. He searched his pen thoroughly but he saw nothing. Finally, just as Wilbur was settling down for his late morning nap, he heard again the thin voice that had addressed him the night before.

"Salutations!" said the voice.

At last Wilbur saw the creature that had spoken to him in such a kindly way. Stretched across the upper part of the doorway was a big spiderweb, and hanging from the top of the web, head down, was a large gray spider.

"My name," said the spider," is Charlotte.

That was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Wilbur liked Charlotte better and better each day. As the days went by, Wilbur grew and grew and gained a lot of weight. One afternoon, when Fern was sitting on her stool as always, the oldest sheep walked into the barn, and stopped to pay a call on Wilbur.

"You know why they’re fattening you up," asked the sheep, "don’t you?"

"No," said Wilbur.

"Well, I don’t like to spread bad news," said the sheep, "but they’re fattening you up because they’re going to kill you, that’s why:"

"They’re going to what?" screamed Wilbur.

"Kill you. Turn you into smoked bacon and ham," continued the old sheep. "There’s a regular conspiracy around here to kill you at Christmastime, and everybody is in the plot – Lurvy, Zuckerman, even John Arable, Fern’s father."

"Stop!" screamed Wilbur. "I don’t want to die! Save me, somebody! Save me!"

"Be quiet, Wilbur!" said Charlotte, who had been listening to this awful conversation. "You shall not die!"

"What? Really?" cried Wilbur. "Who’s going to save me?"

"I am," said Charlotte.

One Sunday morning Mr. And Mrs. Arable and Fern were sitting at breakfast in the kitchen. Fern was talking about what was going on in Zuckerman’s barn, about the seven little goslings, the rat Templeton, Wilbur and Charlotte. After Fern had left for Sunday School, Mrs. Arable said: "I worry about Fern. She goes to that barn almost every afternoon instead of playing with other children. Did you hear the way she rambled on about the animals, pretending that they talked?"

Mr. Arable chuckled. "Maybe they do talk," he said. "Maybe our ears aren’t as sharp as Fern’s."

One evening astride her web, Charlotte sat moodily eating a horsefly and thinking about the future. After a while she descended to the center of her web and there she began to cut some of her lines. She worked slowly but steadily while the other creatures drowsed. Deep in his soft bed, Wilbur snoozed. Charlotte tore quite a section out of her web, leaving an open space in the middle. Then she started weaving something to take the place of the threads she had removed. When Templeton got back from the dump, around midnight, the spider was still at work.

The next day was foggy. Everything on the farm was dripping wet. The grass looked like a magic carpet. Charlotte’s web was decorated with dozens of tiny beads of water. The web glistened in the light and made a pattern of loveliness and mystery, like a delicate veil. Even Lurvy noticed the web when he came with the pig’s breakfast. He saw something that made him set his pail down. There, in the center of the web, neatly woven in block letters, was a message. It said: SOME PIG!

Forgetting all about Wilbur’s breakfast, he walked back to the house and called Mr. Zuckerman. When Mr. Zuckerman saw the web, he trembled and stared at Wilbur for a long time. Solemnly he walked back to the house and said to his wife in a weak voice: "Edith, something has happened. I think you had but be told that we have a very unusual pig. There can be no mistake about it. A miracle has happened and a sign has occurred here on earth, right on our farm, and we have no ordinary pig."

Charlotte was delighted with the way her trick was working. Soon, the news spread all over the county. Everybody knew that a sign had appeared in a spider’s web on the Zuckerman place. People came from miles around to look at the wondrous pig and read the words on Charlotte’s web. The Zuckerman’s driveway was full of cars and trucks from morning till night. All said they had never seen such a pig before in their lives.

One evening, a few days after the writing had appeared in Charlotte’s web, the spider called a meeting of all the animals in the barn cellar.

"Zuckerman thinks Wilbur is an unusual pig, and therefore he won’t want to kill and eat him," Charlotte began. "I dare say my trick will work and Wilbur’s life can be saved."

"Hurray!" cried everybody.

"But now I need new ideas for the web," said Charlotte. "People are getting sick of reading the word SOME PIG: Any suggestions for a new slogan?"

Finally, the animals agreed on "terrific" to be woven into Charlotte’s web.

Next morning, Wilbur arose and stood beneath the web. When Lurvy arrived with breakfast, there was the handsome pig, and over him, woven neatly in block letters, was the word TERRIFIC.

Another miracle. The Zuckermans phoned the reporter on the Weekly Chronicle, and thus the news spread. That afternoon, Mr. Zuckerman was thinking about what a wondrous pig he owned. He made Lurvy clean the pigpen and bring clean, bright straw every day for Wilbur’s bedding. Furthermore, he ordered Lurvy to build a large, green crate painted with golden letters for his terrific pig, because he had decided to take Wilbur to the County Fair in September.

Some days later, Charlotte found a new word for her web in an advertisement, which Templeton, the rat, had torn from a crumpled, old magazine. The word was "radiant".

One of these days Fern talked to her mother about her friends in the barn.

"Charlotte is the best storyteller I ever heard," said Fern.

"Fern," said her mother sternly, "you must not invent things. You know spiders don’t tell stories. Spiders can’t talk."

"Charlotte can," replied Fern. "She doesn’t talk very loud, but she talks."

As she did her housework, Mrs. Arable kept thinking about her daughter. It didn’t seem natural for a little girl to spend so much time alone in a barn. Finally, Mrs. Arable made up her mind she would pay a call on old Doctor Dorian and ask his advice. But Dr. Dorian told her not to worry. As long as Fern looked well, had good appetite and slept all night, there won’t be any reason to worry.

"It’s amazing how children change from year to year. I think Fern will always love animals. But I doubt that she spends her entire life in Zuckerman’s barn cellar," he said. Mrs. Arable felt greatly relieved.

The crickets in the grass sang the song of summer’s ending, a sad, monotonous song. Wilbur had grown to a pig any man would be proud of. One day more than hundred people came to stand at his yard and admire him and the word "RADIANT" written in the spider’s web. And Wilbur really looked radiant as he played in the golden sunlight. But Wilbur still was modest; fame did not spoil him. Sometimes at night he would dream that men were coming to get him with knives and guns. But in the daytime, Wilbur usually felt happy and confident. No pig ever had truer friends, and he realized that friendship is one of the most satisfying things in the world. He knew that it was almost time for the County Fair, and was looking forward to the trip. If he could distinguish himself at the Fair, and maybe win some prize money, he was sure Zuckerman would let him live.

"You are going with me to the Fair, aren’t you, Charlotte?" Wilbur asked one morning.

"Well, I don’t know," replied Charlotte. "The Fair comes at a bad time for me. I believe I’d better stay home. It’s time I made an egg sac and filled it with eggs. But don’t worry, I’ll come to the Fair if I possibly can."

One September morning everybody got up at daylight. It was the day of the County Fair. Lurvy put clean straw into the new built green crate. In golden letters it said "Zuckerman’s Famous Pig".

"Homer," Mrs. Zuckerman said to her husband, "I am going to give that pig a buttermilk bath."

"Edith, you’re crazy," mumbled Zuckerman. But she paid no attention to him. Wilbur stood still and closed his eyes as Mrs. Zuckerman rubbed him all over with delicious buttermilk. He felt radiant and happy. When Mrs. Zuckerman got through and rubbed him dry, he was the cleanest, prettiest pig you ever saw. The Zuckermans went up to change into their best clothes. In the meantime Charlotte decided to go with Wilbur to the Fair so she could help him if needed. Tempted by the thought of finding all sorts of delicious leftovers, Templeton also agreed to come along and maybe run some errands for Charlotte. Charlotte and Templeton sneaked into the crate and hid. Soon after, the Zuckermans returned, pushed Wilbur into the crate, and heaved the crate aboard the Mr. Arable's truck.

"Everybody in!" called Mr. Arable. He started the motor, and off they went, not knowing that under the straw of the crate was a rat, and inside a knothole was a big gray spider.

When they pulled into the Fair Grounds they could hear music and see the Ferris wheel turning in the sky. They could smell hamburgers frying and see balloons aloft. Mr. Arable gave Fern and her brother Avery some money.

"Now run along!" he said. "And remember, the money has to last all day. And don’t eat a lot of stuff that’s going to make you sick to your stomachs."

"And don’t bet lost!" said Mrs. Zuckerman. "And watch out for pick-pockets!"

The children grabbed each other by the hand and danced off in direction of the merry-go-round, toward the wonderful music and the wonderful adventure where there would be no parents to guard them, and where they could be happy and free and do as they pleased.

While Wilbur was being unloaded, crowds gathered to watch. They stared at he sign "Zuckerman’s Famous Pig". Wilbur stared back and tried to look extra good. As soon as the people were gone, Charlotte spoke to Wilbur.

"It’s a good thing you can’t see what I see," she said.

"What do you see?" asked Wilbur.

"There’s a pig in the next pen and he’s enormous. I’m afraid he’s much bigger than you are. He’s not anywhere near as clean as you are, nor as pleasant. But he’s going to be a hard pig to beat, though, on account of his size and weight."

Tears began to come to Wilbur’s eyes.

"But don’t worry," Charlotte said. "With me helping you, it can be done. The judges won’t decide before tomorrow, so we have plenty of time."

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. The rat’s keen nose detected many fine smells in the air. He decided to go exploring.

"Bring me back a word!" Charlotte called after him.

In the tall grass behind the cattle barn Templeton found a folded newspaper. 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. She had left a space in the middle of the web.

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

"It says ‘humble’," replied the rat.

"Humble?" said Charlotte. "’Humble’ means ‘not proud’. And Wilbur’s not proud. You’ve been very helpful, indeed."

The rat grinned and vanished into the shadows. Charlotte went back to her work. Soon it was finished. The word HUMBLE was woven neatly in the center.

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

"Not tonight," Charlotte said in a low voice. "I’m too tired."

"Where are you?" asked Wilbur. "I can’t see you."

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

"What are you doing up there, Charlotte? You almost never leave your web."

"Oh, making something, as usual," she said. "I’ll show you in the morning. My masterpiece. And now, go to sleep Wilbur."

Next morning when the first light came into the sky, when the sparrows stirred in the trees and the rooster crowed, Wilbur awoke and looked for Charlotte.

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

"Yes," came the answer.

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

"I did indeed," replied Charlotte in a weak voice. "It’s my egg sac, my masterpiece, the finest thing I have ever made."

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

"Five hundred and fourteen of them," she replied. "I counted them. The egg sac is waterproof and made out of the toughest material I have. The eggs will be warm and dry inside until next spring when my babies will hatch."

Wilbur noticed that Charlotte’s voice sounded sad.

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

"Oh, I just don’t have much pep anymore," said Charlotte. " I don’t feel good at all. I’m slowing up, feeling my age. 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?"

At nine o’clock, the Arables and Zuckermans returned to the Fair Grounds.

"Look!" cried Fern. "Look at Charlotte’s web!" Everybody rejoiced to find that the miracle of the web had been repeated. Wilbur looked very humble and grateful.

"Wait a minute!" cried Avery. "Look at this!" He pointed to the blue tag on the huge pig’s pen beside Wilbur’s. "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. Pretty soon quite a crowd had gathered in front of Wilbur's pen.

"He isn’t as big as that pig next door," remarked one bystander, "but he’s cleaner. That’s what I like." "He’s humble, too," said a woman, reading the sign on the web.

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. A special award will be made there."

Avery gave a loud yell. Mr. Zuckerman hugged Mrs. Zuckerman. Mr. Arable kissed Mrs. Arable. Avery kissed Wilbur. Fern hugged her mother. And up overhead, in the shadows of the ceiling, Charlotte crouched unseen. She felt very old, but she was sure at last that she had saved Wilbur’s life, and she felt peaceful and contented, though she knew she would soon die.

"Special announcement!" said the loud speaker in a pompous voice. "The management of the Fair takes great pleasure in presenting Mr. Homer L. Zuckerman and his famous pig."

Wilbur trembled when he heard this speech. He felt happy but dizzy.

"I’m scared to death." whispered Mrs. Zuckerman. "Hundreds of people are looking at us."

"Cheer up," replied Mrs. Arable, "this is fun."

Alone with her egg sac Charlotte could hear everything that was said on the loud speaker. The words gave her courage. This was her hour of triumph.

"Ladies and gentlemen," continued the loud speaker, "on behalf of the governors of the Fair, I have the honor of awarding a special prize of twenty-five dollars to Mr. Zuckerman, together with a handsome bronze medal, in token of our appreciation of this radiant, this terrific, this humble pig in attracting so many visitors to our great County Fair."

The crowd began to cheer and clap. One of the judges handed Mr. Zuckerman two ten dollar bills and a five dollar bill. Then he tied the medal around Wilbur’s neck. A photographer took Wilbur’s picture. A great feeling of happiness swept over the Zuckermans and the Arables. This was the greatest moment in Mr. Zuckerman’s life.

Later that day Charlotte and Wilbur were alone. Wilbur lay resting after the excitement and strain of the ceremony.

"Charlotte," said Wilbur after a while, "why are you so quiet? Do you feel all right?"

"A little tired perhaps. But I feel peaceful. Your future is assured. You will live, secure and safe, Wilbur. You mean a great deal to Zuckerman and he will not harm you, ever."

"Oh, Charlotte," Wilbur said with tears in his eyes. "To think that when first I met you I thought you were cruel and bloodthirsty! Why did you do all this for me? I’ve never done anything for you."

"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle."

"You have saved me, Charlotte," said Wilbur. "I would gladly give my life for you – I really would."

"I’m sure you would. And thank you for your generous sentiments."

"The Fair is almost over," said Wilbur. "Won’t it be wonderful to be back home in the barn cellar again with the sheep and the geese? Aren’t you anxious to get home?"

For a moment Charlotte said nothing. Then she spoke in a voice so low Wilbur could hardly hear her words.

"I will not be going back to the barn," she said.

Wilbur leapt to his feet.

"Not going back?" he cried. "Charlotte, what are you talking about?"

"I’m done for," she replied. "In a day or two I’ll be dead. I haven’t even strength enough to climb down into the crate."

Hearing this, Wilbur threw himself down in an agony of pain and sorrow. Great sobs racked his body.

"Charlotte," he moaned. "Charlotte! My true friend!"

"Come now, let’s not make a scene," said the spider. "The Zuckermans and Arables will be back any minute now."

Wilbur was in a panic. But suddenly he thought of the egg sac and the five hundred and fourteen little spiders that would hatch in spring. Wilbur rushed over to the corner where Templeton was sleeping under the straw.

"Templeton!" screamed Wilbur. "Listen to me! Charlotte is very ill. She cannot accompany us home. Therefore, it is absolutely necessary that I take her egg sac with me. I can’t reach it. You are the only one that can get it. Please, please, Templeton, climb up and get the egg sac."

The rat yawned. He straightened his whiskers. Then he looked up at the egg sac.

"Ho, ho," he said. "And what thanks do I ever get for these services, I would like to know? I notice that it’s always me you come to when in trouble. But never a kind word for a rat. Who cares anything about old Templeton?"

Wilbur was desperate. The people were coming. And the rat was failing him. Suddenly he remembered Templeton’s fondness for food.

"Templeton," he said. "I will make you a solemn promise. Get Charlotte’s egg sac for me, and from now on I will let you eat first. I will let you have your choice of everything in the trough and I won’t touch a thing until you’re through."

The rat sat up. "You mean that?" he asked.

"I promise. I cross my heart."

"All right, it’s a deal," said the rat. He walked to the wall and started to climb. His stomach was still swollen from last night’s gorge. But finally he reached the egg sac. He bared his long ugly teeth and began snipping the threads that fastened the sac to the ceiling. When Templeton carried it to the ground and dropped it in front of the pig, Wilbur heaved a great sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Templeton," he said. "I will never forget this as long as I live."

"Neither will I," said the rat. "Well, home we go!" He crept into the crate and hid just in time. The Zuckermans and Arables came along. Wilbur carefully took the egg sac in his mouth and held it there on top of his tongue. It felt funny. And of course he couldn’t say anything. But as he was being shoved into the crate, he looked up at Charlotte and gave her a wink.

"Good-by!" she whispered. And she knew her children were safe. Next day she died. Nobody, of the hundreds of people that had visited the Fair, knew that a gray spider had played the most important part of all. No one was with her when she died.

And so Wilbur came home to his beloved manure pile in the barn cellar. There is no place like home, Wilbur thought, as he secretly placed Charlotte’s unborn babies in a safe corner. Mr. Zuckerman took the medal from Wilbur’s neck and hung it on a nail over the pigpen, where visitors could see it. Wilbur no longer worried about being killed, for he knew that Mr. Zuckerman would keep him as long as he lived. He often thought of Charlotte. No one had ever had such a friend – so affectionate, so loyal, and so skillful. Templeton came to visit Wilbur three times a day, exactly at mealtime, and Wilbur kept the promise he had made. Wilbur let the rat eat first. All fall and winter Wilbur watched over Charlotte’s egg sac as though he were guarding his own children. For Wilbur, nothing in life was so important as this small round object. Patiently he awaited the end of winter and the coming of the little spiders. The winter ended at last. The snow melted and ran away. The sky seemed wider and a warm wind blew. One fine sunny morning Wilbur stood watching his precious egg sac. As he stood there, he noticed something move. A tiny spider crawled from the sac. It looked just like Charlotte. Wilbur trembled all over when he saw it. The little spider waved at him. Two more little spiders crawled out and waved. Then three more little spiders. Then eight. Then ten. Charlotte's children were here at last. For several days and several nights they crawled here and there, up and down, around and about, waving at Wilbur, and exploring their home. They grew quite rapidly. They made tiny webs near the sac. Then came a quiet morning when Mr. Zuckerman opened a door on the north side. A warm draft of rising air blew softly through the barn cellar. The air smelled of the sweet springtime. The baby spiders felt the warm updraft. One spider climbed to the top of the fence. Then it did something that came as a great surprise to Wilbur. The spider stood an its head, pointed its spinnerets in the air, and let loose a cloud of fine silk. The silk formed a balloon.

"Good-bye!" it said, as it sailed through the door-way. Then another spider crawled on top of the fence, made a balloon, and sailed away. Then another. Then another. The air was soon filled with tiny balloons, each balloon carrying a spider. Wilbur was frantic.

"Come back, children!" he cried.

"Good-bye!" they called. "We are aeronauts and we are going into the world to make webs for ourselves, wherever the wind takes us."

Wilbur couldn't bear to watch anymore. In sorrow he sank to the ground and closed his eyes. This seemed like the end of the world, to be deserted by Charlotte's children. Wilbur cried himself to sleep. When he woke late in the afternoon, he suddenly heard a small voice.

"Salutations!" it said. "We're up here."

Wilbur looked up. At top of the doorway three small webs were being constructed. On each web, working busily, was one of Charlotte's daughters. Wilbur was trembling with joy. His heart brimmed with happiness. He had three new friends. It was a happy day for Wilbur. And many more happy, tranquil days followed. As time went on, and the months and years came and went, he was never without friends. Fern did not come regularly to the barn any more. She was growing up, and was careful to avoid childish things like sitting on a milk stool near a pigpen. But always two or three of Charlotte's children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, year after year, lived in the doorway. Mr. Zuckerman took fine care of Wilbur all the rest of his days, for nobody ever forgot the miracle of the web. And Wilbur never forgot Charlotte.

The End

H HOME

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws