Charlotte’s Web and other classic animal stories: Charlotte’s Web, The Trumpet of the Swan, Stuart Little - Garth Williams

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teeth.

      ‘There!’ he said, triumphantly. ‘How’s that?’

      Charlotte read the words. ‘With New Radiant Action.’

      ‘What does it mean?’ asked Charlotte, who had never used any soap flakes in her life.

      ‘How should I know?’ said Templeton. ‘You asked for words and I brought them. I suppose the next thing you’ll want me to fetch is a dictionary.’

      Together they studied the soap ad. ‘With new radiant action,’ repeated Charlotte, slowly. ‘Wilbur!’ she called.

      Wilbur, who was asleep in the straw, jumped up.

      ‘Run around!’ commanded Charlotte. ‘I want to see you in action, to see if you are radiant.’

      Wilbur raced to the end of his yard.

      ‘Now back again, faster!’ said Charlotte.

      Wilbur galloped back. His skin shone. His tail had a fine, tight curl in it.

      ‘Jump into the air!’ cried Charlotte.

      Wilbur jumped as high as he could.

      ‘Keep your knees straight and touch the ground with your ears!’ called Charlotte.

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      Wilbur obeyed.

      ‘Do a back flip with a half twist in it!’ cried Charlotte.

      Wilbur went over backwards, writhing and twisting as he went.

      ‘OK, Wilbur,’ said Charlotte. ‘You can go back to sleep. OK, Templeton, the soap ad. will do, I guess. I’m not sure Wilbur’s action is exactly radiant, but it’s interesting.’

      ‘Actually,’ said Wilbur, ‘I feel radiant.’

      ‘Do you?’ said Charlotte, looking at him with affection. ‘Well, you’re a good little pig, and radiant you shall be. I’m in this thing pretty deep now – I might as well go the limit.’

      Tired from his romp, Wilbur lay down in the clean straw. He closed his eyes. The straw seemed scratchy – not as comfortable as the cow manure, which was always delightfully soft to lie in. So he pushed the straw to one side and stretched out in the manure. Wilbur sighed. It had been a busy day – his first day of being terrific. Dozens of people had visited his yard during the afternoon, and he had had to stand and pose, looking as terrific as he could. Now he was tired. Fern had arrived and seated herself quietly on her stool in the corner.

      ‘Tell me a story, Charlotte!’ said Wilbur, as he lay waiting for sleep to come. ‘Tell me a story!’

      So Charlotte, although she, too, was tired, did what Wilbur wanted.

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      ‘Once upon a time,’ she began, ‘I had a beautiful cousin who managed to build her web across a small stream. One day a tiny fish leaped into the air and got tangled in the web. My cousin was very much surprised, of course. The fish was thrashing wildly. My cousin hardly dared tackle it. But she did. She swooped down and threw great masses of wrapping material around the fish and fought bravely to capture it.’

      ‘Did she succeed?’ asked Wilbur.

      ‘It was a never-to-be-forgotten battle,’ said Charlotte. ‘There was the fish, caught only by one fin, and its tail wildly thrashing and shining in the sun. There was the web, sagging dangerously under the weight of the fish.’

      ‘How much did the fish weigh?’ asked Wilbur eagerly.

      ‘I don’t know,’ said Charlotte. ‘There was my cousin, slipping in, dodging out, beaten mercilessly over the head by the wildly thrashing fish, dancing in, dancing out, throwing her threads and fighting hard. First she threw a left around the tail. The fish lashed back. Then a left to the tail and a right to the mid-section. The fish lashed back. Then she dodged to one side and threw a right, and another right to the fin. Then a hard left to the head, while the web swayed and stretched.’

      ‘Then what happened?’ asked Wilbur.

      ‘Nothing,’ said Charlotte. ‘The fish lost the fight. My cousin wrapped it up so tight it couldn’t budge.’

      ‘Then what happened?’ asked Wilbur.

      ‘Nothing,’ said Charlotte. ‘My cousin kept the fish for a while, and then, when she got good and ready, she ate it.’

      ‘Tell me another story!’ begged Wilbur.

      So Charlotte told him about another cousin of hers who was an aeronaut.

      ‘What is an aeronaut?’ asked Wilbur.

      ‘A balloonist,’ said Charlotte. ‘My cousin used to stand on her head and let out enough thread to form a balloon. Then she’d let go and be lifted into the air and carried upwards on the warm wind.’

      ‘Is that true?’ asked Wilbur. ‘Or are you just making it up?’

      ‘It’s true,’ replied Charlotte. ‘I have some very remarkable cousins. And now, Wilbur, it’s time you went to sleep.’

      ‘Sing something!’ begged Wilbur, closing his eyes.

      So Charlotte sang a lullaby, while crickets chirped in the grass and the barn grew dark. This was the song she sang:

       ‘Sleep, sleep, my love, my only,

       Deep, deep, in the dung and the dark;

       Be not afraid and be not lonely!

       This is the hour when frogs and thrushes

       Praise the world from the woods and the rushes.

       Rest from care, my one and only,

       Deep in the dung and the dark!’

      But Wilbur was already asleep. When the song ended, Fern got up and went home.

      THE 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 story teller 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 me 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.

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