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conversation.

    â€œI 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?”
    â€œWell,” said the spider, plucking thoughtfully at herweb, “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 dirtiest 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 comfortable manure pile with all my friends. I want to breathe the beautiful air and lie in the beautiful sun.”
    â€œYou’re certainly making a beautiful noise,” snapped the old sheep.
    â€œI don’t want to die!” screamed Wilbur, throwing himself to the ground.
    â€œYou shall not die,” said Charlotte, briskly.
    â€œWhat? Really?” cried Wilbur. “Who’s going to save me?”
    â€œI am,” said Charlotte.
    â€œHow?” asked Wilbur.
    â€œThat remains to be seen. But I am going to save you, and I want you to quiet down immediately. You’re carrying on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I can’t stand hysterics.”

VIII .      A Talk at Home
    O N SUNDAY morning Mr. and Mrs. Arable and Fern were sitting at breakfast in the kitchen. Avery had finished and was upstairs looking for his slingshot.
    â€œDid you know that Uncle Homer’s goslings had hatched?” asked Fern.
    â€œHow many?” asked Mr. Arable.
    â€œSeven,” replied Fern. “There were eight eggs but one egg didn’t hatch and the goose told Templeton she didn’t want it any more, so he took it away.”
    â€œThe goose did what?” asked Mrs. Arable, gazing at her daughter with a queer, worried look.
    â€œTold Templeton she didn’t want the egg any more,” repeated Fern.
    â€œWho is Templeton?” asked Mrs. Arable.
    â€œHe’s the rat,” replied Fern. “None of us like him much.”
    â€œWho’s ‘us’?” asked Mr. Arable.
    â€œOh, everybody in the barn cellar. Wilbur and thesheep and the lambs and the goose and the gander and the goslings and Charlotte and me.”
    â€œCharlotte?” said Mrs. Arable. “Who’s Charlotte?”
    â€œShe’s Wilbur’s best friend. She’s terribly clever.”
    â€œWhat does she look like?” asked Mrs. Arable.
    â€œWell-l,” said Fern, thoughtfully, “she has eight legs. All spiders do, I guess.”
    â€œCharlotte is a spider?” asked Fern’s mother.
    Fern nodded. “A big grey one. She has a web across the top of Wilbur’s doorway. She catches flies and sucks their blood. Wilbur adores her.”
    â€œDoes he really?” said Mrs. Arable, rather vaguely. She was staring at Fern with a worried expression on her face.
    â€œOh, yes, Wilbur adores Charlotte,” said Fern. “Do you know what Charlotte said when the goslings hatched?”
    â€œI haven’t the faintest idea,” said Mr. Arable. “Tell us.”
    â€œWell, when the first gosling stuck its little head out from under the goose, I was sitting on my stool in the corner and Charlotte was on her web. She made a speech. She said: ‘I am sure that every one of us here in the barn cellar will be gratified to learn that after four weeks of unremitting effort and patience on the part of the goose, she now has something to show forit.’ Don’t you think that was a pleasant thing for her to say?”
    â€œYes, I do,” said Mrs. Arable. “And now, Fern, it’s time to get ready for Sunday School. And tell Avery to get ready. And this afternoon you can tell me more about what goes on in Uncle Homer’s