Charlotte’s Web
Charlotte's Web
by E. B. WHITE
PICTURES BY GARTH WILLIAMS
A HARPER TROPHY BOOK
HARPER & ROW, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK, EVANSTON, SAN FRANCIS<D, LONDON
CHARLOTTE'S WEB
Copyright@ 1952 by E. B. White
Text copyright@ renewed 1980 by E. B. White
Illustrations copyright renewed 1980 by Garth Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without wriuen permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Printed in the United
States of America. For information address Harper&: Row, Publishers Inc.,
10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022. Published simultaneously in
Canada by Fitzhenry&: Whiteside Limited, Toronto.
Standard Book Number: 06-440055-7
First printed in 1952.
Contents
I. BEFORE BREAKFAST
II. WILBUR 8
III. ESCAPE I J
IV. LONELINESS z;
v. CHARLOTTE J2
VI. SUMMER DAYS 42
VII. BAD NEWS 48
VIII. A TALK AT HOME 52
IX. WILBUR'S BOAST 55
X. AN EXPLOSION 66
XI. THE MIRACLE 77
XII. A MEETING 86
XIII. GOOD PROGRESS 92
XIV. DR. DORIAN 105
XV. THE CRICKETS I I J
XVI. OFF TO THE FAIR 118
XVII. UNCLE lJO
XVIII. THE COOL OF THE EVENING IJ8
XIX. THE EGG SAC 144
XX. THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH 155
XXI. LAST DAY 163
XXII. A WARM WIND 172
Charlotte's Web
Chapter 1
Before Breakfast
HERE'S Papa going with that ax?"
said Fern to her mother as they
were setting the table for breakfast.
"Out to the hoghouse," replied
Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."
"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern,
who was only eight.
"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs 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."
"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill
it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table.
"Don't yell, Fern!" she said. "Your father is right. The
pig would probably die anyway."
Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors.
The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime.
Fern's sneakers were sopping by the time she caught
up. with her father.
"Please don't kill it!" she sobbed. "It's unfair."
Mr. Arable stopped walking.
"Fern," he said gently, "you will have to learn to
control yourself."
"Control myself?" yelled Fem. "This is a matter of
life and death, and you talk about controlling myself."
Before Breakfast 3
Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the ax
and tried to pull it out of her father's hand.
"Fern," said Mr. Arable, "I know more about raising
a litter of pigs than you do. A weakling makes trouble.
Now run along!"
"But it's unfair," cried Fern. "The pig couldn't help
being born small, could it? If I had been very small at
birth, would you have killed me?"
Mr. Arable smiled. "Certainly not," he said, looking
down at his daughter with love. "But this is different.
A little girl is one thing, a little runty pig is another."
"I see no difference," replied Fern, still hanging on
to the ax. "This is the most terrible case of injustice I
ever heard of."
A queer look came over John Arable's face. He
seemed almost ready to cry himself.
"All right," he said. "You go back to the house and
I will bring the runt when I come in. I'll let you start
it on a bottle, like a baby. Then you'll see what trouble
a pig can be."
When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an
hour later, he carried a carton under his arm. Fern was
upstairs changing her sneakers. The kitchen table was
set for breakfast, and the room smelled of coffee, bacon,
damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.
"Put it on her chair!" said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable
set the carton down at Fern's place. Then he walked
4 Charlotte's Web
to the sink and washed his hands and dried them on the
roller towel.
Fern came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were
red from crying. As she approached her chair, the
carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise. Fem
looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the car
ton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn
pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone
through its ears, turning them pink.
"He's yours," said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an un
timely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for
this foolishness."
Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig. "Oh,"
she whispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely per
fect."
She closed the canon carefully. First she kissed her
father, then she kissed her mother. Then she opened
the lid again, lifted the pig out, and held it against
her cheek. At this moment her brother Avery came
into the room. Avery was ten. He was heavily armed
-an air rifle in one hand, a wooden dagger in the
other.
"What's that?" he demanded. "What's Fern got?"
11She's got a guest for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable.
11Wash your hands and face, Avery!"
"Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down.
uyou call that miserable thing a pig? That's a fine
specimen of a pig-it's no bigger than a white rat."
"Wash up and eat your breakfast, Avery!" said his
mother. "The school bus will be along in half an hour."
"Can I have a pig, too, Pop?" asked Avery.
"No, I only distribute pigs to early risers," said Mr.
Arable. "Fem 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!"
But Fern couldn't eat until her pig had had a drink
of milk. Mrs. Arable found a baby's nursing bottle and
a rubber nipple. She poured warm milk into the bottle,
fitted the nipple over the top, and handed it to Fern.
"Give him his breakfast!" she said.
A minute later, Fern was seated on the floor in the
comer of the kitchen with her infant between her
Before Breakfast 7
knees, teaching it to suck from the bottle. The pig,
although tiny, had a good appetite and caught on
quickly.
The school bus honked from the road.
"Run!" commanded Mrs. Arable, taking the pig
from Fern and slipping a doughnut into her hand.
Avery grabbed his gun and another doughnut.
The children ran out to the road and climbed into
the bus. Fern took no notice of the others in the bus.
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. By the time the bus reached
school, Fem had named her pet, selecting the most
beautiful name she could think of.
"Its name is Wilbur," she whispered to herself.
She was still thinking about the pig when the teacher
said: "Fern, what is the capital of Pennsylvania?"
"Wilbur," replied Fern, dreamily. The pupils gig
gled. Fem blushed.
Chapter II
Wilbur
FERN loved Wilbur more than anything. She
loved to stroke him, to feed him, to put him to
bed. Every morning, as soon as she got up, she
warmed his milk, tied his bib on, and held the
bottle for him. Every afternoon, when the school bus
stopped in front of her house, she jumped out and ran
to the kitchen to fix another bottle for him. She fed
him again at suppertime, and again just before going to
bed. Mrs. Arable gave him a feeding around noontime
each day, when Fern was away in school. Wilbur
loved his milk, and he was never happier than when
Fern was wanning up a bottle for him. He would
stand and gaze up at her with adoring eyes.
For the first few days of his life, Wilbur was allowed
to live in a box near the stove in the kitchen. Then,
when Mrs. Arable complained, he was moved to a big
ger box in the woodshed. At two weeks of age, he was
moved outdoors. It was apple-blossom time, and the
days were getting warmer. Mr. Arable fixed a small
yard specially for Wilbur under an apple tree, and
8
Wilbur 9
gave him a large wooden box full of straw, with a
doorway cut in it so he could walk in and out as he
pleased.
"Won't he be cold at night?" asked Fem.
"No," said her father. "You watch and see what he
does."
Carrying a bottle of milk, Fern sat down under the
apple tree inside the yard. Wilbur ran to her and she
held the bottle for him while he sucked. \Vhen he had
finished the last drop, he grunted and walked sleepily
into the box. 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. He crawled into the
tunnel and disappeared from sight, completely cov
ered with straw. Fern was enchanted. It relieved her
mind to know that her baby would sleep covered up,
and would stay warm.
10 Charlotte's Web
Every morning after breakfast, Wilbur walked out
to the road with Fern and waited with her till the bus
came. She would wave good-bye to him, and he would
stand and watch the bus until it vanished around a
turn. While Fern was in school, Wilbur was shut up
inside his yard. But as soon as she got home in the
afternoon, she would take him out and he would
follow her around the place. If she went into the
house, Wilbur went, too. If she went upstairs, Wilbur
would wait at the bottom step until she came down
again. If she took her doll for a walk in the doll car
riage, Wilbur followed along. Sometimes, on these
journeys, Wilbur would get tired, and Fern would pick
him up and put him in the carriage alongside the doll.
He liked this. And if he was very tired, he would close
his eyes and go to sleep under the doll's blanket. He
looked cute when his eyes were closed, because his
lashes were so long. The doll would close her eyes, too,
and Fern would wheel the carriage very slowly and
smoothly so as not to wake her infants.
One warm afternoon, Fern and Avery put on bath
ing suits and went down to the brook for a swim.
Wilbur tagged along at Fern's heels. When she waded
into the brook, Wilbur waded in with her. He found
the water quite cold-too cold for his liking. So while
the children swam and played and splashed water at
each other, Wilbur amused himself in the mud along
the edge of the brook, where it was wann and moist
and delightfully sticky and oozy.
Every day was a happy day, and every night was
peaceful.
Wilbur was what farmers call a spring pig, which
simply means that he was born in springtime. When he
Charlotte's Web
was five weeks old, Mr. Arable said he was now big
enough to sell, and would have to be sold. Fern broke
down and wept. But her father was finn about it. Wil
bur's appetite �d increased; he was beginning to eat
scraps of food in addition to milk. Mr. Arable was not
willing to provide for him any longer. He had already
sold Wilbur's ten brothers and sisters.
"He's got to go, Fern, " he said. "You have had your
fun raising a baby pig, but Wilbur is not a baby any
longer and he has got to be sold. "
"Call up the Zuckermans, " suggested Mrs. Arable
to Fern. "Your Uncle Homer sometimes raises a pig.
And if Wilbur goes there to live, you can walk down
the road and visit him as often as you like. "
"How much money should I ask for him?" Fern
wanted to know.
"Well, " said her father, "he's a runt. Tell your
Uncle Homer you've got a pig you'll sell for six
dollars, and see what he says. "
It was soon arranged. Fern phoned and got her
Aunt Edith, and her Aunt Edith hollered for Uncle
Homer, and Uncle Homer came in from the bam and
talked to Fern. When he heard that the price was only
six dollars, he said he would buy the pig. Next day
Wilbur was taken from his home under the apple tree
and went to live in a manure pile in the cellar of Zuck
erman's bam.
Chapter Ill
Escape
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 often had a sort of peaceful smell-as though
nothing bad could happen ever again in the world. It
smelled of grain and of harness dressing and of axle
grease and of rubber boots and of new rope. And
whenever the cat was given a fish-head to eat, the barn
would smell of fish. But mostly it smelled of hay, for
there was always hay in the great loft up overhead.
And there was always hay being pitched down to the
cows and the horses and the sheep.
The bam was pleasantly warm in winter when the
animals spent most of their time indoors, and it was
pleasantly cool in summer when the big doors stood
wide open to the breeze. The bam 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
13