ilbur liked Charlotte better and

better each day. Her campaign against

insects seemed sensible and useful.

Hardly anybody around the farm had a

good word to say for a fly. Flies spent

their time pestering others. The cows

hated them. The horses detested them.

The sheep loathed them. Mr. and Mrs.

Zuckerman were always complaining

about them, and putting up screens.

Wilbur admired the way Charlotte

managed. He was particularly glad that

she always put her victim to sleep

before eating it.

"It's real thoughtful of you to do

that, Charlotte," he said.

"Yes," she replied in her sweet,

musical voice, "I always give them an

anaesthetic so they won't feel pain. It's a

little service I throw in."

As the days went by, Wilbur grew

and grew. He ate three big meals a day.

He spent long hours lying on his side,

half asleep, dreaming pleasant dreams.

He enjoyed good health and he gained a

lot of weight. One afternoon, when Fern

was sitting on her stool, the oldest sheep

walked into the barn, and stopped to pay

a call on Wilbur.

"Hello!" she said. "Seems to me

you're putting on weight."

"Yes, I guess I am," replied Wilbur.

"At my age it's a good idea to keep

gaining."

"Just the same, I don't envy you,"

said the old sheep. "You know why

they're fattening you up, don't you?"

"No," said Wilbur.

"Well, I don't like to spread bad

news," said the sheep, "but they're

fattening you up because they're going to

kill you, that's why."

"They're going to what?" screamed

Wilbur. Fern grew rigid on her stool.

"Kill you. Turn you into smoked

bacon and ham," continued the old

sheep. "Almost all young pigs get

murdered by the farmer as soon as the

real cold weather sets in. There's a

regular conspiracy around here to kill

you at Christmastime. Everybody is in

the plot - Lurvy, Zuckerman, even John

Arable."

"Mr. Arable?" sobbed Wilbur.

"Fern's father?"

"Certainly. When a pig is to be

butchered, everybody helps. I'm an old

sheep and I see the same thing, same old

business, year after year. Arable arrives

with his.22, shoots the..."

"Stop!" screamed Wilbur. "I don't

want to die! Save me, somebody! Save

me!" Fern was just about to jump up

when a voice was heard.

"Be quiet, Wilbur!" said Charlotte,

who had been listening to this awful

conversation.

"I 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?"

"Well," said the spider, plucking

thoughtfully at her web, "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."

"You're certainly making a beautiful

noise," snapped the old sheep.

"I don't want to die!" screamed

Wilbur, throwing himself to the ground.

"You shall not die," said Charlotte,

briskly.

"What? Really?" cried Wilbur.

"Who's going to save me?"

"I am," said Charlotte.

"How?" asked Wilbur.

"That 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."