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Charlotte’s Web and other classic animal stories: Charlotte’s Web, The Trumpet of the Swan, Stuart Little. Garth Williams
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isbn 9780008154530
Автор произведения Garth Williams
Жанр Детская проза
Издательство HarperCollins
‘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 towards Zuckerman’s. 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 Dr 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 grown-ups. 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.
THE CRICKETS sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer’s ending, a sad, monotonous song. ‘Summer is over and gone,’ they sang. ‘Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying.’
The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summertime cannot last for ever. Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year – the days when summer is changing into autumn – the crickets spread the rumour of sadness and change.
Everybody heard the song of the crickets. Avery and Fern Arable heard it as they walked the dusty road. They knew that school would soon begin again. The young geese heard it and knew that they would never be little goslings again. Charlotte heard it and knew that she hadn’t much time left. Mrs Zuckerman, at work in the kitchen, heard the crickets, and a sadness came over her, too. ‘Another summer gone,’ she sighed. Lurvy, at work building a crate for Wilbur, heard the song and knew it was time to dig potatoes.
‘Summer is over and gone,’ repeated the crickets. ‘How many nights till frost?’ sang the crickets.