Bad News
WLBUR liked Charlotte better and
better each day. Her campaign against
insects seemed sensible and useful.
Hardly anybody around the farm had
a good word to say for a fly. Flies spent their time pes-
tering others. The cows hated them. The horses de-
tested them. The sheep loathed them. Mr. and Mrs.
Zuckerman were always complaining about them, and
putting up screens.
Wilbur admired the way Charlotte managed. He was
particularly glad that she always put her victim to sleep
before eating it.
"It's real thoughtful of you to do that, Charlotte,"
he said.
"Yes," she replied in her sweet, musical voice, "I al-
ways give them an anaesthetic so they won't feel pain.
It's a little service I throw in."
As the days went by, Vilbur grew and grew. He ate
three big meals a day. He spent long hours lying on his
side, half asleep, dreaming pleasant dreams. He enjoyed good health and he gained a lot of weight. One after-
noon, when Fern was sitting on her stool, the oldest
sheep walked into the barn, and stopped to pay a call
on Wilbur.
"Hello!" she said. "Seems to me you're putting on
weight."
"Yes, I guess I am," replied Wilbur. "At my age it's
a good idea to keep gaining."
"Just the same, I don't envy you," said the old sheep.
"You know why they're fattening you up, 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. Fern
grew rigid on her stool.
"Kill you. Turn you into smoked bacon and ham,''
continued the old sheep. "Almost all young pigs get
murdered by the farmer as soon as the real cold weather
sets in. There's a regular conspiracy around here to kill
you at Christmastime. Everybody is in the plot-
Lurvy, Zuckerman, even John Arable."
"Mr. Arable?" sobbed Wilbur. "Fern's father?"
"Cenainly. When a pig is to be butchered, every-
body helps. I'm an old sheep and I see the same thing,
same old business, year after year. Arable arrives with
his .:z. shoots the •.. "
"Stop!" screamed Wilbur. "I don't want to die!
Save me, somebody! Save me!" Fern was just about to
jump up when a voice was heard.
"Be quiet, Wilbur!" said Charlotte, who had been
listening to this awful conversation.
"I can't be quiet," screamed Wilbur, racing up and
down. "I don't want to be killed. I don't want to die. Is
it true what the old sheep says, Charlotte? Is it true
they are going to kill me when the cold weather
comes?"
"Well," said the spider, plucking thoughtfully at her web, "the old sheep has been around this barn a long
time. She has seen many a spring pig come and go. If
she says they plan to kill you, I'm sure it's true. It's also
the diniest trick I ever heard of. What people don't
think of!"
Wilbur burst into tears. "I don't want to die," he
moaned. "I want to stay alive, right here in my com-
fonable manure pile with all my friends. I want to
breathe the beautiful air and lie in the beautiful sun."
"You're certainly making a beautiful noise," snapped
the old sheep.
"I don't want to die!" screamed Wilbur, throwing
himself to the ground.
"You shall not die," said Charlotte, briskly.
"What? Really?" cried Wilbur. "Who's going to
save me?"
"I am," said Charlotte.
"How?" asked Wilbur.
"That remains to be seen. But I am going to save you,
and I want you to quiet down immediately. You're car-
rying on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I can't
stand hysterics."