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.

"Did you know that Uncle Homer's

goslings had hatched?" asked Fern.

"How many?" asked Mr. Arable.

"Seven," 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."

"The goose did what?" asked Mrs.

Arable, gazing at her daughter with a

queer, worried look.

"Told Templeton she didn't want the

egg any more," repeated Fern.

"Who is Templeton?" asked Mrs.

Arable.

"He's the rat," replied Fern. "None

of us like him much."

"Who's 'us'?" asked Mr. Arable.

"Oh, everybody in the barn cellar.

Wilbur and the sheep and the lambs and

the goose and the gander and the

goslings and Charlotte and me."

"Charlotte?" said Mrs. Arable.

"Who's Charlotte?"

"She's Wilbur's best friend. She's

terribly clever."

"What does she look like?" asked

Mrs. Arable.

"Well-l," said Fern, thoughtfully,

"she has eight legs. All spiders do, I

guess."

"Charlotte 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."

"Does he really?" said Mrs.

Arable, rather vaguely. She was staring

at Fern with a worried expression on her

face.

"Oh, yes, Wilbur adores Charlotte,"

said Fern. "Do you know what Charlotte

said when the goslings hatched?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," said

Mr. Arable. "Tell us."

"Well, 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 for it." Don't you think that was

a pleasant thing for her to say?"

"Yes, 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 barn. Aren't you spending quite

a lot of time there? You go there almost

every afternoon, don't you?"

"I like it there," replied Fern. She

wiped her mouth and ran upstairs. After

she had left the room, Mrs. Arable spoke

in a low voice to her husband.

"I worry about Fern," she said.

"Did you hear the way she rambled on

about the animals, pretending that they

talked?"

Mr. Arable chuckled.

"Maybe they do talk," he said. "I've

sometimes wondered. At any rate, don't

worry about Fern - she's just got a lively

imagination. Kids think they hear all

sorts of things."

"Just the same, I do worry about

her," replied Mrs. Arable. "I think I shall

ask Dr. Dorian about her the next time I

see him. He loves Fern almost as much

as we do, and I want him to know how

queerly she is acting about that pig and

everything. I don't think it's normal. You

know perfectly well animals don't talk."

Mr. Arable grinned. "Maybe our

ears aren't as sharp as Fern's," he said.