he next day was Saturday. Fern

stood at the kitchen sink drying the

breakfast dishes as her mother washed

them. Mrs. Arable worked silently. She

hoped Fern would go out and play with

other children, instead of heading for the

Zuckermans' barn to sit and watch

animals.

"Charlotte is the best storyteller I

ever heard," said Fern, poking her dish

towel into a cereal bowl.

"Fern," said her mother sternly,

"you must not invent things. You know

spiders don't tell stories. Spiders can't

talk."

"Charlotte can," replied Fern. "She

doesn't talk very loud, but she talks."

"What kind of story did she tell?"

asked Mrs. Arable.

"Well," began Fern, "she told us

about a cousin of hers who caught a fish

in her web. Don't you think that's

fascinating?"

"Fern, dear, how would a fish get in

a spider's web?" said Mrs. Arable. "You

know it couldn't happen. You're making

this up."

"Oh, it happened all right," replied

Fern. "Charlotte never fibs. This cousin

of hers built a web across a stream. One

day she was hanging around on the web

and a tiny fish leaped into the air and got

tangled in the web. The fish was caught

by one fin, Mother; its tail was wildly

thrashing and shining in the sun. Can't

you just see the web, sagging

dangerously under the weight of the fish?

Charlotte's cousin kept slipping in,

dodging out, and she was beaten

mercilessly over the head by the wildly

thrashing fish, dancing in, dancing out,

throwing..."

"Fern!" snapped her mother. "Stop

it! Stop inventing these wild tales!"

"I'm not inventing," said Fern. "I'm

just telling you the facts."

"What finally happened?" asked her

mother, whose curiosity began to get the

better of her.

"Charlotte's cousin won. She

wrapped the fish up, then she ate him

when she got good and ready. Spiders

have to eat, the same as the rest of us."

"Yes, I suppose they do," said Mrs.

Arable, vaguely.

"Charlotte has another cousin who

is a balloonist. She stands on her head,

lets out a lot of line, and is carried aloft

on the wind. Mother, wouldn't you

simply love to do that?"

"Yes, I would, come to think of it,"

replied Mrs. Arable. "But Fern, darling,

I wish you would play outdoors today

instead of going to Uncle Homer's barn.

Find some of your playmates and do

something nice outdoors. You're

spending too much time in that barn - it

isn't good for you to be alone so much."

"Alone?" said Fern. "Alone? My

best friends are in the barn cellar. It is a

very sociable place. Not at all lonely."

Fern disappeared after a while,

walking down the road toward

Zuckermans'. Her mother dusted the

sitting room. As she worked she kept

thinking about Fern. It didn't seem

natural for a little girl to be so interested

in animals. Finally Mrs. Arable made up

her mind she would pay a call on old

Doctor Dorian and ask his advice. She

got in the car and drove to his office in

the village.

Dr. Dorian had a thick beard. He

was glad to see Mrs. Arable and gave

her a comfortable chair.

"It's about Fern," she explained.

"Fern spends entirely too much time in

the Zuckermans' barn. It doesn't seem

normal. She sits on a milk stool in a

corner of the barn cellar, near the

pigpen, and watches animals, hour after

hour. She just sits and listens."

Dr. Dorian leaned back and closed

his eyes.

"How enchanting!" he said. "It must

be real nice and quiet down there.

Homer has some sheep, hasn't he?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Arable. "But it all

started with that pig we let Fern raise on

a bottle. She calls him Wilbur. Homer

bought the pig, and ever since it left our

place Fern has been going to her uncle's

to be near it."

"I've been hearing things about that

pig," said Dr. Dorian, opening his eyes.

"They say he's quite a pig."

"Have you heard about the words

that appeared in the spider's web?"

asked Mrs. Arable nervously.

"Yes," replied the doctor.

"Well, do you understand it?" asked

Mrs. Arable.

"Understand what?"

"Do you understand how there

could be any writing in a spider's web?"

"Oh, no," said Dr. Dorian. "I don't

understand it. But for that matter I don't

understand how a spider learned to spin

a web in the first place. When the words

appeared, everyone said they were a

miracle. But nobody pointed out that the

web itself is a miracle."

"What's miraculous about a spider's

web?" said Mrs. Arable. "I don't see

why you say a web is a miracle - it's just

a web."

"Ever try to spin one?" asked Dr.

Dorian.

Mrs. Arable shifted uneasily in her

chair. "No," she replied. "But I can

crochet a doily and I can knit a sock."

"Sure," said the doctor. "But

somebody taught you, didn't they?"

"My mother taught me."

"Well, who taught a spider? A

young spider knows how to spin a web

without any instructions from anybody.

Don't you regard that as a miracle?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Arable. "I

never looked at it that way before. Still,

I don't understand how those words got

into the web. I don't understand it, and I

don't like what I can't understand."

"None of us do," said Dr. Dorian,

sighing. "I'm a doctor. Doctors are

supposed to understand everything. But I

don't understand everything, and I don't

intend to let it worry me."

Mrs. Arable fidgeted. "Fern says

the animals talk to each other. Dr.

Dorian, do you believe animals talk?"

"I never heard one say anything," he

replied. "But that proves nothing. It is

quite possible that an animal has spoken

civilly to me and that I didn't catch the

remark because I wasn't paying attention.

Children pay better attention than

grownups. If Fern says that the animals

in Zuckerman's barn talk, I'm quite ready

to believe her. Perhaps if people talked

less, animals would talk more. People

are incessant talkers - I can give you my

word on that."

"Well, I feel better about Fern,"

said Mrs. Arable. "You don't think I need

worry about her?"

"Does she look well?" asked the

doctor.

"Oh, yes."

"Appetite good?"

"Oh, yes, she's always hungry."

"Sleep well at night?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then don't worry," said the doctor.

"Do you think she'll ever start

thinking about something besides pigs

and sheep and geese and spiders?"

"How old is Fern?"

"She's eight."

"Well," said Dr. Dorian, "I think

she will always love animals. But I

doubt that she spends her entire life in

Homer Zuckerman's barn cellar. How

about boys - does she know any boys?"

"She knows Henry Fussy," said

Mrs. Arable brightly.

Dr. Dorian closed his eyes again

and went into deep thought.

"Henry Fussy," he mumbled. "Hmm.

Remarkable. Well, I don't think you have

anything to worry about. Let Fern

associate with her friends in the barn if

she wants to. I would say, offhand, that

spiders and pigs were fully as

interesting as Henry Fussy. Yet I predict

that the day will come when even Henry

will drop some chance remark that

catches Fern's attention. It's amazing

how children change from year to year.

How's Avery?" he asked, opening his

eyes wide.

"Oh, Avery," chuckled Mrs. Arable.

"Avery is always fine. Of course, he gets

into poison ivy and gets stung by wasps

and bees and brings frogs and snakes

home and breaks everything he lays his

hands on. He's fine."

"Good!" said the doctor.

Mrs. Arable said goodbye and

thanked Dr. Dorian very much for his

advice. She felt greatly relieved.