he next day was rainy and dark.

Rain fell on the roof of the barn and

dripped steadily from the eaves. Rain

fell in the barnyard and ran in crooked

courses down into the lane where

thistles and pigweed grew. Rain

spattered against Mrs.Zuckerman's

kitchen windows and came gushing out

of the downspouts. Rain fell on the

backs of the sheep as they grazed in the

meadow. When the sheep tired of

standing in the rain, they walked slowly

up the lane and into the fold.

Rain upset Wilbur's plans. Wilbur

had planned to go out, this day, and dig a

new hole in his yard. He had other plans,

too. His plans for the day went

something like this:

Breakfast at six-thirty. Skim milk,

crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts,

wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup

sticking to them, potato skins, leftover

custard pudding with raisins, and bits of

Shredded Wheat.

Breakfast would be finished at

seven.

From seven to eight, Wilbur

planned to have a talk with Templeton,

the rat that lived under his trough.

Talking with Templeton was not the most

interesting occupation in the world but it

was better than nothing.

From eight to nine, Wilbur planned

to take a nap outdoors in the sun.

From nine to eleven he planned to

dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find

something good to eat buried in the dirt.

From eleven to twelve he planned

to stand still and watch flies on the

boards, watch bees in the clover, and

watch swallows in the air.

Twelve o'clock - lunchtime.

Middlings, warm water, apple parings,

meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat

scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper

off a package of cheese. Lunch would be

over at one.

From one to two, Wilbur planned to

sleep.

From two to three, he planned to

scratch itchy places by rubbing against

the fence.

From three to four, he planned to

stand perfectly still and think of what it

was like to be alive, and to wait for

Fern.

At four would come supper. Skim

milk, provender (fodder, hay or grain

used as animal feed), leftover sandwich

from Lurvy's lunchbox, prune skins, a

morsel of this, a bit of that, fried

potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little

more of this, a little more of that, a piece

of baked apple, a scrap of upsidedown

cake.

Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking

about these plans. He awoke at six, and

saw the rain, and it seemed as though he

couldn't bear it.

"I get everything all beautifully

planned out and it has to go and rain," he

said.

For a while he stood gloomily

indoors. Then he walked to the door and

looked out. Drops of rain struck his face.

His yard was cold and wet. His trough

had an inch of rainwater in it. Templeton

was nowhere to be seen.

"Are you out there, Templeton?"

called Wilbur. There was no answer.

Suddenly Wilbur felt lonely and

friendless.

"One day just like another," he

groaned. "I'm very young, I have no real

friend here in the barn, it's going to rain

all morning and all afternoon, and Fern

won't come in such bad weather. Oh,

honestly!" And Wilbur was crying again,

for the second time in two days.

At six-thirty Wilbur heard the

banging of a pail. Lurvy was standing

outside in the rain, stirring up breakfast.

"C'mon, pig!" said Lurvy.

Wilbur did not budge. Lurvy

dumped the slops, scraped the pail, and

walked away. He noticed that something

was wrong with the pig.

Wilbur didn't want food, he wanted

love. He wanted a friend - someone who

would play with him. He mentioned this

to the goose, who was sitting quietly in a

corner of the sheepfold.

"Will you come over and play with

me?" he asked.

"Sorry, sonny, sorry," said the

goose. "I'm sitting-sitting on my eggs.

Eight of them. Got to keep them toastyoasty-

oasty warm. I have to stay right

here, I'm no flibberty-ibberty-gibbet. I

do not play when there are eggs to hatch.

I'm expecting goslings (baby goose)."

"Well, I didn't think you were

expecting woodpeckers," said Wilbur,

bitterly.

Wilbur next tried one of the lambs.

"Will you please play with me?" he

asked.

"Certainly not," said the lamb. "In

the first place, I cannot get into your pen,

as I am not old enough to jump over the

fence. In the second place, I am not

interested in pigs. Pigs mean less than

nothing to me."

"What do you mean, less than

nothing?" replied Wilbur. "I don't think

there is any such thing as less than

nothing. Nothing is absolutely the limit

of nothingness. It's the lowest you can

go. It's the end of the line. How can

something be less than nothing? If there

were something that was less than

nothing, then nothing would not be

nothing, it would be something - even

though it's just a very little bit of

something. But if nothing is nothing, then

nothing has nothing that is less than it is."

"Oh, be quiet!" said the lamb. "Go

play by yourself! I don't play with pigs."

Sadly, Wilbur lay down and

listened to the rain. Soon he saw the rat

climbing down a slanting board that he

used as a stairway.

"Will you play with me,

Templeton?" asked Wilbur.

"Play?" said Templeton, twirling

his whiskers. "Play? I hardly know the

meaning of the word."

"Well," said Wilbur, "it means to

have fun, to frolic, to run and skip and

make merry."

"I never do those things if I can

avoid them," replied the rat, sourly.

"I prefer to spend my time eating,

gnawing, spying, and hiding. I am a

glutton but not a merry-maker. Right now

I am on my way to your trough to eat

your breakfast, since you haven't got

sense enough to eat it yourself." And

Templeton, the rat, crept stealthily along

the wall and disappeared into a private

tunnel that he had dug between the door

and the trough in Wilbur's yard.

Templeton was a crafty rat, and he had

things pretty much his own way. The

tunnel was an example of his skill and

cunning. The tunnel enabled him to get

from the barn to his hiding place under

the pig trough without coming out into

the open. He had tunnels and runways all

over Mr.Zuckerman's farm and could get

from one place to another without being

seen. Usually he slept during the daytime

and was abroad only after dark.

Wilbur watched him disappear into

his tunnel. In a moment he saw the rat's

sharp nose poke out from underneath the

wooden trough. Cautiously Templeton

pulled himself up over the edge of the

trough. This was almost more than

Wilbur could stand: on this dreary, rainy

day to see his breakfast being eaten by

somebody else. He knew Templeton was

getting soaked, out there in the pouring

rain, but even that didn't comfort him.

Friendless, dejected, and hungry, he

threw himself down in the manure and

sobbed.

Late that afternoon, Lurvy went to

Mr. Zuckerman. "I think there's

something wrong with that pig of yours.

He hasn't touched his food."

"Give him two spoonfuls of sulphur

and a little molasses (dark thick syrup

produced during the refining of sugar),"

said Mr. Zuckerman.

Wilbur couldn't believe what was

happening to him when Lurvy caught him

and forced the medicine down his throat.

This was certainly the worst day of his

life. He didn't know whether he could

endure the awful loneliness any more.

Darkness settled over ever thing.

Soon there were only shadows and the

noises of the sheep chewing their cuds,

and occasionally the rattle of a cowchain

up overhead. You can imagine

Wilbur's surprise when, out of the

darkness, came a small voice he had

never heard before. It sounded rather

thin, but pleasant. "Do you want a friend,

Wilbur?" it said. "I'll be a friend to you.

I've watched you all day and I like you."

"But I can't see you," said Wilbur,

jumping to his feet. "Where are you?

And who are you?"

"I'm right up here," said the voice.

"Go to sleep. You'll see me in the

morning."