ay after day the spider waited,

head-down, for an idea to come to her.

Hour by hour she sat motionless, deep in

thought.

Having promised Wilbur that she

would save his life, she was determined

to keep her promise. Charlotte was

naturally patient.

She knew from experience that if

she waited long enough, a fly would

come to her web; and she felt sure that if

she thought long enough about Wilbur's

problem, an idea would come to her

mind.

Finally, one morning toward the

middle of July, the idea came. "Why,

how perfectly simple!" she said to

herself. "The way to save Wilbur's life

is to play a trick on Zuckerman. If I can

fool a bug," thought Charlotte, "I can

surely fool a man. People are not as

smart as bugs."

Wilbur walked into his yard just at

that moment.

"What are you thinking about,

Charlotte?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," said the

spider, "that people are very gullible."

"What does 'gullible' mean?"

"Easy to fool," said Charlotte.

"That's a mercy," replied Wilbur,

and he lay down in the shade of his fence

and went fast asleep. The spider,

however, stayed wide awake, gazing

affectionately at him and making plans

for his future. Summer was half gone.

She knew she didn't have much time.

That morning, just as Wilbur fell

asleep, Avery Arable wandered into the

Zuckerman's front yard, followed by

Fern. Avery carried a live frog in his

hand. Fern had a crown of daisies in her

hair. The children ran for the kitchen.

"Just in time for a piece of

blueberry pie," said Mrs. Zuckerman.

"Look at my frog!" said Avery,

placing the frog on the drainboard and

holding out his hand for pie.

"Take that thing out of here!" said

Mrs. Zuckerman.

"He's hot," said Fern. "He's almost

dead, that frog."

"He is not," said Avery. "He lets me

scratch him between the eyes." The frog

jumped and landed in Mrs. Zuckerman's

dishpan full of soapy water.

"You're getting your pie on you,"

said Fern. "Can I look for eggs in the

henhouse, Aunt Edith?"

"Run outdoors, both of you! And

don't bother the hens!"

"It's getting all over everything,"

shouted Fern. "His pie is all over his

front."

"Come on, frog!" cried Avery. He

scooped up his frog. The frog kicked,

splashing soapy water onto the blueberry

pie.

"Another crisis!" groaned Fern.

"Let's swing in the swing!" said

Avery.

The children ran to the barn.

Mr. Zuckerman had the best swing

in the county. It was a single long piece

of heavy rope tied to the beam over the

north doorway. At the bottom end of the

rope was a fat knot to sit on.

It was arranged so that you could

swing without being pushed. You

climbed a ladder to the hayloft. Then,

holding the rope, you stood at the edge

and looked down, and were scared and

dizzy. Then you straddled the knot, so

that it acted as a seat. Then you got up

all your nerve, took a deep breath, and

jumped. For a second you seemed to be

falling to the barn floor far below, but

then suddenly the rope would begin to

catch you, and you would sail through

the barn door going a mile a minute, with

the wind whistling in your eyes and ears

and hair. Then you would zoom upward

into the sky, and look up at the clouds,

and the rope would twist and you would

twist and turn with the rope. Then you

would drop down, down, down out of

the sky and come sailing back into the

barn almost into the hayloft, then sail out

again (not quite so far this time), then in

again (not quite so high), then out again,

then in again, then out, then in; and then

you'd jump off and fall down and let

somebody else try it.

Mothers for miles around worried

about Zuckerman's swing. They feared

some child would fall off. But no child

ever did. Children almost always hang

onto things tighter than their parents think

they will.

Avery put the frog in his pocket and

climbed to the hayloft.

"The last time I swang in this

swing, I almost crashed into a barn

swallow," he yelled.

"Take that frog out!" ordered Fern.

Avery straddled the rope and

jumped. He sailed out through the door,

frog and all, and into the sky, frog and

all. Then he sailed back into the barn.

"Your tongue is purple!" screamed

Fern.

"So is yours!" cried Avery, sailing

out again with the frog.

"I have hay inside my dress! It

itches!" called Fern.

"Scratch it!" yelled Avery, as he

sailed back.

"It's my turn," said Fern. "Jump

off!"

"Fern's got the itch!" sang Avery.

When he jumped off, he threw the

swing up to his sister. She shut her eyes

tight and jumped. She felt the dizzy drop,

then the supporting lift of the swing.

When she opened her eyes she was

looking up into the blue sky and was

about to fly back through the door.

They took turns for an hour.

When the children grew tired of

swinging they went down toward the

pasture and picked wild raspberries and

ate them.

Their tongues turned from purple to

red. Fern bit into a raspberry that had a

bad-tasting bug inside it, and got

discouraged. Avery found an empty

candy box and put his frog in it. The frog

seemed tired after his morning in the

swing. The children walked slowly up

toward the barn. They, too, were tired

and hardly had energy enough to walk.

"Let's build a tree house,"

suggested Avery. "I want to live in a

tree, with my frog."

"I'm going to visit Wilbur," Fern

announced.

They climbed the fence into the

lane and walked lazily toward the

pigpen. Wilbur heard them coming and

got up.

Avery noticed the spider web, and,

coming closer, he saw Charlotte.

"Hey, look at that big spider!" he

said. "It's tremenjus."

"Leave it alone!" commanded Fern.

"You've got a frog - isn't that enough?"

"That's a fine spider and I'm going

to capture it," said Avery. He took the

cover off the candy box. Then he picked

up a stick. "I'm going to knock that ol'

spider into this box," he said.

Wilbur's heart almost stopped when

he saw what was going on.

This might be the end of Charlotte

if the boy succeeded in catching her.

"You stop it, Avery!" cried Fern.

Avery put one leg over the fence of

the pigpen. He was just about to raise

his stick to hit Charlotte when he lost his

balance. He swayed and toppled and

landed on the edge of Wilbur's trough.

The trough tipped up and then came

down with a slap. The goose egg was

right underneath. There was a dull

explosion as the egg broke, and then a

horrible smell.

Fern screamed. Avery jumped to

his feet. The air was filled with the

terrible gases and smells from the rotten

egg. Templeton, who had been resting in

his home, scuttled away into the barn.

"Good night!" screamed Avery.

"Good night! What a stink! Let's get out

of here!"

Fern was crying. She held her nose

and ran toward the house. Avery ran

after her, holding his nose.

Charlotte felt greatly relieved to

see him go. It had been a narrow escape.

Later on that morning, the animals

came up from the pasture - the sheep, the

lambs, the gander, the goose, and the

seven goslings. There were many

complaints about the awful smell, and

Wilbur had to tell the story over and

over again, of how the Arable boy had

tried to capture Charlotte, and how the

smell of the broken egg drove him away

just in time. "It was that rotten goose egg

that saved Charlotte's life," said Wilbur.

The goose was proud of her share

in the adventure. "I'm delighted that the

egg never hatched," she gabbled.

Templeton, of course, was

miserable over the loss of his beloved

egg. But he couldn't resist boasting. "It

pays to save things," he said in his surly

voice. "A rat never knows when

something is going to come in handy. I

never throw anything away."

"Well," said one of the lambs, "this

whole business is all well and good for

Charlotte, but what about the rest of us?

The smell is unbearable. Who wants to

live in a barn that is perfumed with

rotten egg?"

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it,"

said Templeton. He sat up and pulled

wisely at his long whiskers, then crept

away to pay a visit to the dump.

When Lurvy showed up at

lunchtime carrying a pail of food for

Wilbur, he stopped short a few paces

from the pigpen. He sniffed the air and

made a face.

"What in thunder?" he said. Setting

the pail down, he picked up the stick that

Avery had dropped and pried the trough

up. "Rats!" he said. "Fhew! I mighta

known a rat would make a nest under

this trough. How I hate a rat!"

And Lurvy dragged Wilbur's trough

across the yard and kicked some dirt into

the rat's nest, burying the broken egg and

all Templeton's other possessions. Then

he picked up the pail. Wilbur stood in

the trough, drooling with hunger. Lurvy

poured. The slops ran creamily down

around the pig's eyes and ears. Wilbur

grunted. He gulped and sucked, and

sucked and gulped, making swishing and

swooshing noises, anxious to get

everything at once. It was a delicious

meal - skim milk, wheat middlings,

leftover pancakes, half a doughnut, the

rind of a summer squash, two pieces of

stale toast, a third of a gingersnap, a fish

tail, one orange peel, several noodles

from a noodle soup, the scum off a cup

of cocoa, an ancient jelly roll, a strip of

paper from the lining of the garbage pail,

and a spoonful of raspberry jello.

Wilbur ate heartily. He planned to

leave half a noodle and a few drops of

milk for Templeton. Then he

remembered that the rat had been useful

in saving Charlotte's life, and that

Charlotte was trying to save his life. So

he left a whole noodle, instead of a half.

Now that the broken egg was

buried, the air cleared and the barn

smelled good again. The afternoon

passed, and evening came.

Shadows lengthened. The cool and

kindly breath of evening entered through

doors and windows. Astride her web,

Charlotte sat moodily eating a horsefly

and thinking about the future. After a

while she bestirred herself.

She descended to the center of the

web and there she began to cut some of

her lines. She worked slowly but

steadily while the other creatures

drowsed. None of the others, not even

the goose, noticed that she was at work.

Deep in his soft bed, Wilbur snoozed.

Over in their favorite corner, the

goslings whistled a night song.

Charlotte tore quite a section out of

her web, leaving an open space in the

middle. Then she started weaving

something to take the place of the threads

she had removed. When Templeton got

back from the dump, around midnight,

the spider was still at work.