The
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
upside down 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 every
thing 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 and 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
wood-peckers," 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.
Wilbur watched him
disappear into his tunnel. In a moment he saw the rat's sharp nose poke out
from underneath the wooden trough. Cautiously Templeton pulled himself up over
the edge of the trough. This was almost more than Wilbur could stand: on this
dreary, rainy day to see his breakfast being eaten by somebody else. He knew
Templeton was getting soaked, out there in the pouring rain, but even that
didn't comfort him. Friendless, dejected, and hungry, he threw himself down in
the manure and sobbed.
Late that afternoon,
Lurvy went to Mr. Zuckerman. "I think there's something wrong with that
pig of yours. He hasn't touched his food.""Give him two spoonfuls of
sulphur and a little molasses," said Mr. Zuckerman.
Wilbur couldn't
believe what happening to him when Lurvy caught him and forced the medicine
down his throat. This was certainly the worst day of his life. He didn't know
whether he could endure the awful loneliness any more.
Darkness settled over
everything. Soon there were only shadows and the noises of the sheep chewing
their cuds, and occasionally the rattle of a cow-chain up overhead. You can
imagine Wilbur's surprise when, out of the darkness, came a small voice he had
never heard before. It sounded rather thin, but pleasant. "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,
jumping to his feet. "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."V. Charlotte(1)The night seemed long. Wilbur's stomach was empty
and his mind was full. And when your stomach is empty and your mind is full,
it's always hard to sleep.
A dozen times during
the night Wilbur woke and stared into the blackness, listening to the sounds
and trying to figure out what time it was. A barn is never perfectly quiet.
Even at midnight there is usually something stirring.
The first time he
woke, he heard Templeton gnawing a hole in the grain bin. Templeton's teeth
scraped loudly against the wood and made quite a racket. "That crazy
rat!" thought Wilbur. "Why does he have to stay up all night,
grinding his clashers and destroying people's property? Why can't he go to
sleep, like any decent animal?"the second time Wilbur woke, he heard the
goose turning on her nest and chuckling to herself.
"What time is
it?" whispered Wilbur to the goose.
"Probably-obably-obably
about half-past eleven," said the goose, "Why aren't you asleep,
Wilbur?""Too many things on my mind," said Wilbur.
"Well,"
said the goose, "that's not my trouble. I have nothing at all on my mind,
but I've too many things under my behind. Have you ever tried to sleep while
sitting on eight eggs?""No," replied Wilbur, "I suppose it
is uncomfortable. How long does it take a goose egg to
hatch?""Approximately-oximately thirty days, all told," answered
the goose. "But I cheat a little. On warm afternoons, I just pull a little
straw over the eggs and go out for a walk."Wilbur yawned and went back to
sleep. In his dreams he heard again the voice saying, "I'll be a friend to
you. Go to sleep--you'll see me in the morning."About half an hour before
dawn, Wilbur woke and listened. The barn was still dark. The sheep lay
motionless. Even the goose was quiet. Overhead, on the main floor, nothing
stirred: the cows were resting, the horses dozed. Templeton had quit work and
gone off somewhere on an errand. The only sound was a slight scraping noise
from the rooftop, where the weather-vane swung back and forth. Wilbur loved the
barn when it was like this--calm and quiet, waiting for light.
"Day is almost
here," he thought.
Through a small
window, a faint gleam appeared.
One by one the stars
went out. Wilbur could see the goose a few feet away. She sat with head tucked
under a wing. Then he could see the sheep and the lambs. The sky lightened.
"Oh, beautiful
day, it is here at last! Today I shall find my friend."Wilbur looked
everywhere. He searched his pen thoroughly. He examined the window ledge,
stared up at the ceiling. But he saw nothing new. Finally he decided he would
have to speak up. He hated to break the lovely stillness of dawn by using his
voice, but he couldn't think of any other way to locate the mysterious new
friend who was nowhere to be seen. So Wilbur cleared his throat.
"Attention,
please!" he said in a loud, firm voice. "Will the party who addressed
me at bedtime last night kindly make himself or herself known by giving an
appropriate sign or signal!"Wilbur paused and listened. All the other
animals lifted their heads and stared at him. Wilbur blushed. But he was
determined to get in touch with his unknown friend.
"Attention,
please!" he said. "I will repeat the message. Will the party who
addressed me at bedtime last night kindly speak up. Please tell me where you
are, if you are my friend!"The sheep looked at each other in disgust.
"Stop your
nonsense, Wilbur!" said the oldest sheep. "If you have a new freind
here, you are probably disturbing his rest; and the quickest way to spoil a
friendship is to wake somebody up in the morning before he is ready. How can
you be sure your friend is an early riser?""I beg everyone's
pardon," whispered Wilbur. "I didn't mean to be
objectionable."He lay down meekly in the in the manure, facing the door.
He did not know it, but his friend was very near. and the old sheep was
right--the friend was still asleep.
Soon Lurvy appeared
with slops for breakfast. Wilbur rushed out, ate everything in a hurry, and
licked the trough. The sheep moved off down the lane, the gander waddled along
behind them, pulling grass. And then, just as Wilbur was settling down for his
morning nap, he heard again the thin voice that had addressed him the night
before.
"Salutations!"
said the voice.
Wilbur jumped to his
feet. "Salu-what?" he cried.
"Salutations!"
said the voice.
"What are they,
and where are you?" screamed Wilbur. "Please, please, tell me where
you are. And what are salutations?""Salutations are greetings,"
said the voice. "When I say 'salutations,' it's just my fancy way of
saying hello or good morning. Actually, it's a silly expression, and I am
surprised that I used it at all. As for my whereabouts, that's easy. Look up here
in the corner of the dooway! Here I am. Look, I'm waving!"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 grey spider. She was about the size of a
gumdrop. She had eight legs, and she was waving one of them at Wilbur in
friendly greeting. "See me now?" she asked.