"Where's
Papa going with the ax?" said Fern to her mother asthey were setting the
table for breakfast.
"Out
to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were bornlast
night.""I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was
onlyeight.
"Well,"
said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's verysmall and weak, and
it will never amount to anything. So your fatherhas decided to do away with
it.""Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it?
Justbecause 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 dieanyway."Fern pushed a chair out of the
way and ran outdoors. The grasswas wet and the earth smelled of springtime.
Fern's sneakers weresopping 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
controlyourself.""Control myself?" yelled Fern. "This is a
matter of life anddeath, and you talk about controlling myself." Tears ran
down hercheeks and she took hold of the ax and tried to pull it out of
herfather's hand.
"Fern,"
said Mr. Arable, "I know more about raising a litter ofpigs than you do. A
weakling makes trouble. Now run along!""But it's unfair," cried
Fern. "The pig couldn't help being bornsmall, could it? If I had been very
small at birth, would you havekilled me?"Mr. Arable smiled.
"Certainly not," he said, looking down at hisdaughter with love.
"But this is different. A little girl is onething, a little runty pig is
another.""I see no difference," replied Fern, still hanging on
to theax. "This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."A
queer look came over John Arable's face. He seemed almostready to cry himself.
"All
right," he said." You go back to the house and I will bringthe runt
when I come in. I'll let you start it on a bottle, like ababy. Then you'll see
what trouble a pig can be."When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an
hour later, hecarried a carton under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing
hersneakers. The kitchen table was set for breakfast, and the roomsmelled of
coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from thestove.
"Put it on her
chair!" said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable set thecarton down at Fern's place.
Then he walked to the sink and washedhis 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 ascratching noise.. Fern looked at her
father. Then she lifted thelid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her,
was the newbornpig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its
ears,turning them pink.
"He's yours,"
said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an untimely death.
And may the good Lord
forgive me for this foolishness."Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny
pig. "Oh," shewhispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely
perfect."She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father,then
she kissed her mother. Then she opened the lid again, liftedthe pig out, and
held it against her cheek. At this moment herbrother Avery came into the room.
Avery was ten. He was heavilyarmed--an air rifle in one hand, a wooden dagger
in the other.
"What's
that?" he demanded. "What's Fern got?""She's got a guest
for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable. "Wash yourhands and face,
Avery!""Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down.
"You call thatmiserable thing a pig? That's a fine specimen of a pig--it's
nobigger than a white rat.""Wash up and eat your breakfast,
Avery!" said his mother. "Theschool 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. "Fern
was up at daylight, trying to rid world of injustice.
As a result, she now
has a pig. A small one, to be sure, butnevertheless a pig. It just shows what
can happen if a person getsout 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. Shepoured 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 corner ofthe kitchen with her infant between her
knees, teaching it to suckfrom the bottle. The pig, although tiny, had a good
appetite andcaught on quickly.
The school bus honked
from the road.
"Run!"
commanded Mrs. Arable, taking the pig from Fern andslipping a doughnut into her
hand. Avery grabbed his gun and anotherdoughnut.
The children ran out
to the road and climbed into the bus. Ferntook no notice of the others in the
bus. She just sat and stared outof the window, thinking what a blissful world
it was and how luckyshe was to have entire charge of a pig. By the time the bus
reachedschool, Fern had named her pet, selecting the most beautiful nameshe
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
giggled. Fernblushed.