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 F em. "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
Charlotte's Web 4
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. F em
looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. 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 untimely 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 perfect."
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 A very came
into the room. A very 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.
uy ou 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. "F em 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, F em 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 giggled. F em blushed.