he barn was very large. It was

very old. It smelled of hay and it smelled

of manure. It smelled of the perspiration

of tired horses and the wonderful sweet

breath of patient cows. It often had a sort

of peaceful smell - as though nothing bad

could happen ever again in the world. It

smelled of grain and of harness dressing

and of axle grease and of rubber boots

and of new rope. And whenever the cat

was given a fish-head to eat, the barn

would smell of fish. But mostly it

smelled of hay, for there was always hay

in the great loft up overhead. And there

was always hay being pitched down to

the cows and the horses and the sheep.

The barn was pleasantly warm in

winter when the animals spent most of

their time indoors, and it was pleasantly

cool in summer when the big doors

stood wide open to the breeze. The barn

had stalls on the main floor for the work

horses, tie-ups on the main floor for the

cows, a sheepfold down below for the

sheep, a pigpen down below for Wilbur,

and it was full of all sorts of things that

you find in barns: ladders, grindstones,

pitch forks, monkey wrenches, scythes,

lawn mowers, snow shovels, ax handles,

milk pails, water buckets, empty grain

sacks, and rusty rat traps. It was the kind

of barn that swallows like to build their

nests in. It was the kind of barn that

children like to play in. And the whole

thing was owned by Fern's uncle,

Mr.Homer L. Zuckerman.

Wilbur's new home was in the

lower part of the barn, directly

underneath the cows. Mr.Zuckerman

knew that a manure pile is a good place

to keep a young pig. Pigs need warmth,

and it was warm and comfortable down

there in the barn cellar on the south side.

Fern came almost every day to visit

him. She found an old milking stool that

had been discarded, and she placed the

stool in the sheepfold next to Wilbur's

pen. Here she sat quietly during the long

afternoons, thinking and listening and

watching Wilbur. The sheep soon got to

know her and trust her. So did the geese,

who lived with the sheep. All the

animals trusted her, She was so quiet

and friendly. Mr.Zuckerman did not

allow her to take Wilbur out, and he did

not allow her to get into the pigpen. But

he told Fern that she could sit on the

stool and watch Wilbur as long as she

wanted to. It made her happy just to be

near the pig, and it made Wilbur happy

to know that she was sitting there, right

outside his pen. But he never had any

fun, no walks, no rides, no swims.

One afternoon in June, when Wilbur

was almost two months old, he

wandered out into his small yard outside

the barn. Fern had not arrived for her

usual visit. Wilbur stood in the sun

feeling lonely and bored.

"There's never anything to do

around here," he thought. He walked

slowly to his food trough and sniffed to

see if anything had been overlooked at

lunch. He found a small strip of potato

skin and ate it. His back itched, so he

leaned against the fence and rubbed

against the boards. When he tired of this,

he walked indoors, climbed to the top of

the manure pile, and sat down. He didn't

feel like going to sleep, he didn't feel

like digging, he was tired of standing

still, tired of lying down. "I'm less than

two months old and I'm tired of living,"

he said. He walked out to the yard again.

"When I'm out here," he said,

"there's no place to go but in. When I'm

indoors, there's no place to go but out in

the yard."

"That's where you're wrong, my

friend, my friend," said a voice.

Wilbur looked through the fence

and saw the goose standing there.

"You don't have to stay in that dirtylittle

dirty-little dirty-little yard," said

the goose, who talked rather fast. "One

of the boards is loose. Push on it, pushpush-

push on it, and come on out!"

"What?" said Wilbur. "Say it

slower!"

"At-at-at, at the risk of repeating

myself," said the goose, "I suggest that

you come on out. It's wonderful out

here."

"Did you say a board was loose?"

"That I did, that I did," said the

goose.

Wilbur walked up to the fence and

saw that the goose was right - one board

was loose. He put his head down, shut

his eyes, and pushed. The board gave

way. In a minute he had squeezed

through the fence and was standing in the

long grass outside his yard. The goose

chuckled.

"How does it feel to be free?" she

asked.

"I like it," said Wilbur. "That is, I

guess I like it."

Actually, Wilbur felt queer to be

outside his fence, with nothing between

him and the big world.

"Where do you think I'd better go?"

"Anywhere you like, anywhere you

like," said the goose. "Go down through

the orchard, root up the sod! Go down

through the garden, dig up the radishes!

Root up everything! Eat grass! Look for

corn! Look for oats! Run all over! Skip

and dance, jump and prance! Go down

through the orchard and stroll in the

woods! The world is a wonderful place

when you're young."

"I can see that," replied Wilbur. He

gave a jump in the air, twirled, ran a few

steps, stopped, looked all around,

sniffed the smells of afternoon, and then

set off walking down through the

orchard. Pausing in the shade of an apple

tree, he put his strong snout into the

ground and began pushing, digging, and

rooting. He felt very happy. He had

plowed up quite a piece of ground

before anyone noticed him. Mrs.

Zuckerman was the first to see him. She

saw him from the kitchen window, and

she immediately shouted for the men.

"Ho-mer!" she cried. "Pig's out!

Lurvy! Pig's out! Homer! Lurvy! Pig's

out. He's down there under that apple

tree."

"Now the trouble starts," thought

Wilbur. "Now I'll catch it."

The goose heard the racket and she,

too, started hollering.

"Run-run-run downhill, make for

the woods, the woods!" she shouted to

Wilbur. "They'll never-never-never

catch you in the woods."

The cocker spaniel heard the

commotion and he ran out from the barn

to join the chase. Mr.Zuckerman heard,

and he came out of the machine shed

where he was mending a tool. Lurvy, the

hired man, heard the noise and came up

from the asparagus patch where he was

pulling weeds. Everybody walked

toward Wilbur and Wilbur didn't know

what to do. The woods seemed a long

way off, and anyway, he had never been

down there in the woods and wasn't sure

he would like it.

"Get around behind him, Lurvy,"

said Mr.Zuckerman, "and drive him

toward the barn! And take it easy - don't

rush him! I'll go and get a bucket of slops

(food for pigs)."

The news of Wilbur's escape

spread rapidly among the animals on the

place. Whenever any creature broke

loose on Zuckerman's farm, the event

was of great interest to the others. The

goose shouted to the nearest cow that

Wilbur was free, and soon all the cows

knew. Then one of the cows told one of

the sheep, and soon all the sheep knew.

The lambs learned about it from their

mothers. The horses, in their stalls in the

barn, pricked up their ears when they

heard the goose hollering; and soon the

horses had caught on to what was

happening. "Wilbur's out," they said.

Every animal stirred and lifted its head

and became excited to know that one of

his friends had got free and was no

longer penned up or tied fast.

Wilbur didn't know what to do or

which way to run. It seemed as though

everybody was after him. "If this is what

it's like to be free," he thought, "I believe

I'd rather be penned up in my own yard."

The cocker spaniel was sneaking

up on him from one side, Lurvy the hired

man was sneaking up on him from the

other side. Mrs.Zuckerman stood ready

to head him off if he started for the

garden, and now Mr.Zuckerman was

coming down toward him carrying a

pail. "This is really awful," thought

Wilbur. "Why doesn't Fern come?" He

began to cry.

The goose took command and

began to give orders. "Don't just stand

there, Wilbur! Dodge about, dodge

about!" cried the goose. "Skip around,

run toward me, slip in and out, in and

out, in and out! Make for the woods!

Twist and turn!"

The cocker spaniel sprang for

Wilbur's hind leg. Wilbur jumped and

ran. Lurvy reached out and grabbed.

Mrs. Zuckerman screamed at Lurvy. The

goose cheered for Wilbur. Wilbur

dodged between Lurvy's legs. Lurvy

missed Wilbur and grabbed the spaniel

instead.

"Nicely done, nicely done!" cried

the goose. "Try it again, try it again!"

"Run downhill!" suggested the

cows.

"Run toward me!" yelled the gander

(male goose).

"Run uphill!" cried the sheep.

"Turn and twist!" honked the goose.

"Jump and dance!" said the rooster.

"Look out for Lurvy!" called the

cows.

"Look out for Zuckerman!" yelled

the gander.

"Watch out for the dog!" cried the

sheep.

"Listen to me, listen to me!"

screamed the goose.

Poor Wilbur was dazed and

frightened by this hullabaloo (ruckus,

uproar, confusion). He didn't like being

the center of all this fuss. He tried to

follow the instructions his friends were

giving him, but he couldn't run downhill

and uphill at the same time, and he

couldn't turn and twist when he was

jumping and dancing, and he was crying

so hard he could barely see anything that

was happening.

After all, Wilbur was a very young

pig - not much more than a baby, really.

He wished Fern were there to take him

in her arms and comfort him. When he

looked up and saw Mr. Zuckerman

standing quite close to him, holding a

pail of warm slops, he felt relieved. He

lifted his nose and sniffed. The smell

was delicious - warm milk, potato skins,

wheat middlings, Kellogg's Corn Flakes,

and a popover left from the Zuckermans'

breakfast.

"Come, pig!" said Mr.Zuckerman,

tapping the pail. "Come pig!"

Wilbur took a step toward the pail.

"No-no-no!" said the goose. "It's

the old pail trick, Wilbur. Don't fall for

it, don't fall for it! He's trying to lure you

back into captivity-ivity. He's appealing

to your stomach."

Wilbur didn't care. The food

smelled appetizing. He took another step

toward the pail.

"Pig, pig!" said Mr. Zuckerman in a

kind voice, and began walking slowly

toward the barnyard, looking all about

him innocently, as if he didn't know that

a little white pig was following along

behind him.

"You'll be sorry-sorry-sorry,"

called the goose.

Wilbur didn't care. He kept walking

toward the pail of slops.

"You'll miss your freedom," honked

the goose. "An hour of freedom is worth

a barrel of slops."

Wilbur didn't care.

When Mr. Zuckerman reached the

pigpen, he climbed over the fence and

poured the slops into the trough. Then he

pulled the loose board away from the

fence, so that there was a wide hole for

Wilbur to walk through.

"Reconsider, reconsider!" cried the

goose.

Wilbur paid no attention. He

stepped through the fence into his yard.

He walked to the trough and took a long

drink of slops, sucking in the milk

hungrily and chewing the popover. It

was good to be home again.

While Wilbur ate, Lurvy fetched a

hammer and some 8-penny nails and

nailed the board in place. Then he and

Mr.Zuckerman leaned lazily on the fence

and Mr. Zuckerman scratched Wilbur's

back with a stick.

"He's quite a pig," said Lurvy.

"Yes, he'll make a good pig," said

Mr. Zuckerman.

Wilbur heard the words of praise.

He felt the warm milk inside his

stomach. He felt the pleasant rubbing of

the stick along his itchy back. He felt

peaceful and happy and sleepy. This had

been a tiring afternoon. It was still only

about four o'clock but Wilbur was ready

for bed.

"I'm really too young to go out into

the world alone," he thought as he lay

down.