ern loved Wilbur more than

anything. She loved to stroke him, to

feed him, to put him to bed. Every

morning, as soon as she got up, she

warmed his milk, tied his bib on, and

held the bottle for him. Every afternoon,

when the school bus stopped in front of

her house, she jumped out and ran to the

kitchen to fix another bottle for him. She

fed him again at suppertime, and again

just before going to bed. Mrs.Arable

gave him a feeding around noontime

each day, when Fern was away in

school. Wilbur loved his milk, and he

was never happier than when Fern was

warming up a bottle for him. He would

stand and gaze up at her with adoring

eyes.

For the first few days of his life,

Wilbur was allowed to live in a box

near the stove in the kitchen. Then, when

Mrs. Arable complained, he was moved

to a bigger box in the woodshed. At two

weeks of age, he was moved outdoors. It

was apple-blossom time, and the days

were getting warmer. Mr.Arable fixed a

small yard specially for Wilbur under an

apple tree, and gave him a large wooden

box full of straw, with a doorway cut in

it so he could walk in and out as he

pleased.

"Won't he be cold at night?" asked

Fern.

"No," said her father. "You watch

and see what he does."

Carrying a bottle of milk, Fern sat

down under the apple tree inside the

yard. Wilbur ran to her and she held the

bottle for him while he sucked. When he

had finished the last drop, he grunted and

walked sleepily into the box. Fern

peered through the door. Wilbur was

poking the straw with his snout. In a

short time he had dug a tunnel in the

straw. He crawled into the tunnel and

disappeared from sight, completely

covered with straw.

Fern was enchanted. It relieved her

mind to know that her baby would sleep

covered up, and would stay warm.

Every morning after breakfast,

Wilbur walked out to the road with Fern

and waited with her till the bus came.

She would wave good-bye to him, and

he would stand and watch the bus until it

vanished around a turn. While Fern was

in school, Wilbur was shut up inside his

yard. But as soon as she got home in the

afternoon, she would take him out and he

would follow her around the place. If

she went into the house, Wilbur went,

too. If she went upstairs, Wilbur would

wait at the bottom step until she came

down again. If she took her doll for a

walk in the doll carriage, Wilbur

followed along. Sometimes, on these

journeys, Wilbur would get tired, and

Fern would pick him up and put him in

the carriage alongside the doll. He liked

this. And if he was very tired, he would

close his eyes and go to sleep under the

doll's blanket. He looked cute when his

eyes were closed, because his lashes

were so long. The doll would close her

eyes, too, and Fern would wheel the

carriage very slowly and smoothly so as

not to wake her infants.

One warm afternoon, Fern and

Avery put on bathing suits and went

down to the brook for a swim. Wilbur

tagged along at Fern's heels. When she

waded into the brook, Wilbur waded in

with her. He found the water quite cold -

too cold for his liking. So while the

children swam and played and splashed

water at each other, Wilbur amused

himself in the mud along the edge of the

brook, where it was warm and moist and

delightfully sticky and oozy.

Every day was a happy day, and

every night was peaceful.

Wilbur was what farmers call a

spring pig, which simply means that he

was born in springtime. When he was

five weeks old, Mr.Arable said he was

now big enough to sell, and would have

to be sold. Fern broke down and wept.

But her father was firm about it. Wilbur's

appetite had increased; he was beginning

to eat scraps of food in addition to milk.

Mr. Arable was not willing to provide

for him any longer. He had already sold

Wilbur's ten brothers and sisters.

"He's got to go, Fern," he said.

"You have had your fun raising a baby

pig, but Wilbur is not a baby any longer

and he has got to be sold."

"Call up the Zuckermans,"

suggested Mrs.Arable to Fern. "Your

Uncle Homer sometimes raises a pig.

And if Wilbur goes there to live, you can

walk down the road and visit him as

often as you like."

"How much money should I ask for

him?" Fern wanted to know.

"Well," said her father, "he's a runt.

Tell your Uncle Homer you've got a pig

you'll sell for six dollars, and see what

he says."

It was soon arranged. Fern phoned

and got her Aunt Edith, and her Aunt

Edith hollered for Uncle Homer, and

Uncle Homer came in from the barn and

talked to Fern. When he heard that the

price was only six dollars, he said he

would buy the pig. Next day Wilbur was

taken from his home under the apple tree

and went to live in a manure pile in the

cellar of Zuckerman's barn.