Charlotte's Web by E. B. White Page A

crawled along a beam till she was directly over the next pen. She let herself down on a dragline until she hung in the air just in front of the big pig’s snout.
    â€œMay I have your name?” she asked, politely.
    The pig stared at her. “No name,” he said in a big, hearty voice. “Just call me Uncle.”
    â€œVery well, Uncle,” replied Charlotte. “What is the date of your birth? Are you a spring pig?”
    â€œSure I’m a spring pig,” replied Uncle. “What did you think I was, a spring chicken? Haw, haw—that’s a good one, eh, Sister?”
    â€œMildly funny,” said Charlotte. “I’ve heard funnier ones, though. Glad to have met you, and now I must be going.”
    She ascended slowly and returned to Wilbur’s pen.

    â€œHe claims he’s a spring pig,” reported Charlotte,“and perhaps he is. One thing is certain, he has a most unattractive personality. He is too familiar, too noisy, and he cracks weak jokes. Also, he’s not anywhere near as clean as you are, nor as pleasant. I took quite a dislike to him in our brief interview. He’s going to be a hard pig to beat, though, Wilbur, on account of his size and weight. But with me helping you, it can be done.”
    â€œWhen are you going to spin a web?” asked Wilbur.
    â€œThis afternoon, late, if I’m not too tired,” saidCharlotte. “The least thing tires me these days. I don’t seem to have the energy I once had. My age, I guess.”
    Wilbur looked at his friend. She looked rather swollen and she seemed listless.
    â€œI’m awfully sorry to hear that you’re feeling poorly, Charlotte,” he said. “Perhaps if you spin a web and catch a couple of flies you’ll feel better.”
    â€œPerhaps,” she said, wearily. “But I feel like the end of a long day.” Clinging upside down to the ceiling, she settled down for a nap, leaving Wilbur very much worried.
    All morning people wandered past Wilbur’s pen. Dozens and dozens of strangers stopped to stare at him and to admire his silky white coat, his curly tail, his kind and radiant expression. Then they would move on to the next pen where the bigger pig lay. Wilbur heard several people make favorable remarks about Uncle’s great size. He couldn’t help overhearing these remarks, and he couldn’t help worrying. “And now, with Charlotte not feeling well . . .” he thought. “Oh, dear!”
    All morning Templeton slept quietly under the straw. The day grew fiercely hot. At noon the Zuckermans and the Arables returned to the pigpen. Then, a few minutes later, Fern and Avery showed up. Fern had a monkey doll in her arms and was eating Crackerjack. Avery had a balloon tied to his ear and was chewing a candied apple. The children were hot and dirty.
    â€œIsn’t it hot?” said Mrs. Zuckerman.
    â€œIt’s terribly hot,” said Mrs. Arable, fanning herself with an advertisement of a deep freeze.
    One by one they climbed into the truck and opened lunch boxes. The sun beat down on everything. Nobody seemed hungry.
    â€œWhen are the judges going to decide about Wilbur?” asked Mrs. Zuckerman.
    â€œNot till tomorrow,” said Mr. Zuckerman.
    Lurvy appeared, carrying an Indian blanket that he had won.
    â€œThat’s just what we need,” said Avery. “A blanket.”
    â€œOf course it is,” replied Lurvy. And he spread the blanket across the sideboards of the truck so that it was like a little tent. The children sat in the shade, under the blanket, and felt better.
    After lunch, they stretched out and fell asleep.

XVIII .      The Cool of the Evening
    I N THE cool of the evening, when shadows darkened the Fair Grounds, Templeton crept from the crate and looked around. Wilbur lay asleep in the straw. Charlotte was building a web. Templeton’s keen nose detected many fine smells in the air. The