"爸爸拿着斧子去哪兒了？"在他們收拾桌子準備吃早飯時，芬問她的母親。
"去豬圈了，"阿拉貝爾太太回答。"昨晚生了幾衹小豬。"
"我不明白他為什麽需要一把斧子，"衹有八歲的芬繼續說。
"哦"，她的母親說，"其中的一頭是個小個子。它長得又小又弱，沒有任何可留下來的價值了。所以你爸爸决定去消滅它。"
"消滅它？"芬尖叫。"你是說殺死它？就因為他比別人的個子小？"
阿拉貝爾太太把一罐乳酪放到桌上。"別嚷，芬！"她說。"你爸做的對。那頭豬不論如何都會死的。"
芬推開擋在面前的椅子就往門外跑。草地濕漉漉的，泥土裏散發着春天的氣息。等芬趕上她的爸爸時，她的運動膠鞋全都濕透了。
"請別殺它！"她嗚咽道。"這不公平！"
阿拉貝爾先生止住了腳。
"芬"，他溫柔地說，"你該學會自我控製。"
"自我控製？"芬哭叫道，"這可是一件生死大事！你卻對我說什麽自我控製！"淚水流到芬的面頰上。她抓住了斧頭柄，想把它從父親手中搶下來。
"芬"，阿拉貝爾先生說，"養小豬的事我比你知道的多。一個體質差的小豬很難養活的。現在你該放我走了！"
"可是這不公平，"芬哭叫着。"這頭豬願意讓自己生下來就小嗎，它願意嗎？如果我生下來時也很瘦小，你就會殺死我嗎？"
阿拉貝爾先生微笑了。"當然不會了，"他說着，低下頭慈愛地望着女兒。"但這是不一樣的。一個小女孩是一碼事兒，一個小瘦豬是另一碼事兒。"
"我看沒什麽不一樣，"芬回答着，仍死抓着斧柄不放。"這是我曾經聽到過的最恐怖的案件！"
約翰·阿拉貝爾先生的臉上出現了某種奇特的表情。他好像也要哭了。
"好吧，"他說。"你先回傢吧。等我回傢，我會把那頭小豬帶回來。我將讓你用奶瓶喂他，象喂嬰兒一樣。那時你就會明白一頭小豬會多麽麻煩了。"
半小時後，阿拉貝爾先生胳膊下夾着一個紙板盒回了傢。芬正在樓上換她的運動鞋。廚房的桌子上擺好了早餐，房間裏都是咖啡，薫肉的香味，濕濕的灰泥味兒，還有從爐子裏蕩出來的柴火煙味兒。
"把它放到她的椅子上！"阿拉貝爾太太說。阿拉貝爾先生把紙板盒放到芬的位子上。然後他到洗手池洗了手，用池邊滾筒上的毛巾把手擦幹。
芬慢慢地下了樓。因為剛剛哭過，她的眼還是紅紅的。當她走近她的椅子，紙板盒開始晃動起來，裏面傳出了抓搔聲。芬看了看她的父親。然後她掀起了盒蓋。從那裏面打量着她的，正是那新生的小豬。它是白色的。早晨的陽光把它的耳朵映得粉紅。
"他是你的了，"阿拉貝爾先生說。"是你使他免於一死。願上帝能原諒我這愚蠢的行為。"
芬不錯眼珠地看着這頭小小豬。"哦，"她輕聲贊美。"哦，看他呀！他漂亮極了。"
她小心的關上了蓋子。她先吻了爸爸，又吻了媽媽。然後她又揭開蓋子，把小豬舉起來，讓他貼到自己的臉上。這時，她的哥哥埃弗裏走了進來。埃弗裏十歲了。他的身上可是全副武裝呢--一隻手裏拿着氣槍，一隻手裏攥着一把木製匕首。
"那是什麽？"他問。"芬得了什麽了？"
"她有了一位來吃早餐的客人，"阿拉貝爾太太說。"埃弗裏，去洗手洗臉！"
"讓我看看它嘛！"埃弗裏說着，放下他的槍。"你說這可憐的小東西是一頭豬？這不過是一頭豬的小型復製品而已--他還沒有一隻白老鼠大呢。"
"去洗臉吃飯，埃弗裏！"他的媽媽說。"半小時內校車就要來了。"
"我也能有一頭小豬嗎，爸？"埃弗裏問。
"不，我衹把小豬送給早起的人，"阿拉貝爾先生說。"為了製止這世界上的不公正行為，芬天剛亮就起床了。結果，她現在有了一頭小豬。當然了，他的確是特別小，可不管怎麽說這都是一頭小豬。這衹是表明，如果一個人能迅速地從床上爬起來，會有什麽樣的事情發生。讓我們開飯吧！"
但是芬要等到她的小豬喝完牛奶後纔肯吃飯。阿拉貝爾太太找出了一個嬰兒用的奶瓶和奶嘴兒。她把溫乎乎的牛奶倒進奶瓶裏，又把奶嘴兒安上，纔把奶瓶遞給了芬。"給他吃早餐吧！"她說。
一分鐘後，芬坐在廚房角落裏的地板上，把她的小寶貝抱在膝頭，開始教他如何從瓶中喝奶。這小豬雖然那麽小，卻有一個好胃口，而且也學得很快。
路上響起了校車的喇叭聲。
"快跑！"阿拉貝爾太太命令着，把小豬從芬那裏抱下來，將一張油煎圈餅放到她的手上。埃弗裏趕忙抓起他的槍和另一張油煎圈餅。
孩子們跑到路邊，上了校車。在車裏，芬沒有註意其他的人。她衹是坐在那裏朝車窗外看，想着這是個多美好的世界，自己又是多麽幸運，居然可以擁有一頭小豬。在車開到學校的那一刻，芬已經給她的寶貝起好了名字，選的是她能想到的最漂亮的名字。
"它的名字是威伯"，她喃喃的自語。
當老師在課堂裏問她："芬，賓夕法尼亞洲的首府叫什麽？"時，她還在想着那頭小豬。
"威伯"，芬出神的回答。同學們格格地笑起來。芬臉紅了。
"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."
"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was only eight.
"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."
"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. "Don't yell, Fern!" she said. "Your father is right. The pig would probably die anyway."
Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime. Fern's sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her father.
"Please don't kill it!" she sobbed. "It's unfair."
Mr. Arable stopped walking.
"Fern," he said gently, "you will have to learn to control yourself."
"Control myself?" yelled Fern. "This is a matter of life and death, and you talk about _controlling myself." Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the ax and tried to pull it out of her father's hand.
"Fern," said Mr. Arable, "I know more about raising a litter of pigs than you do. A weakling makes trouble. Now run along!"
"But it's unfair," cried Fern. "The pig couldn't help being born small, could it? If I had been very small at birth, would you have killed me?"
Mr. Arable smiled. "Certainly not," he said, looking down at his daughter with love. "But this is different. A little girl is one thing, a little runty pig is another."
"I see no difference," replied Fern, still hanging on to the ax. "This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."
A queer look came over John Arable's face. He seemed almost ready to cry himself.
"All right," he said. "You go back to the house and I will bring the runt when I come in. I'll let you start it on a bottle, like a baby. Then you'll see what trouble a pig can be."
When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an hour later, he carried a carton under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing her sneakers. The kitchen table was set for breakfast, and the room smelled of coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.
"Put it on her chair!" said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable set the carton down at Fern's place. Then he walked to the sink and washed his hands and dried them on the roller towel.
Fern came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red from crying. As she approached her chair, the carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise. Fern looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its ears, turning them pink.
"He's yours," said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an untimely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness."
Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely perfect."
She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father, then she kissed her mother. Then she opened the lid again, lifted the pig out, and held it against her cheek. At this moment her brother Avery came into the room. Avery was ten.
He was heavily armed - an air rifle in one hand, a wooden dagger in the other.
"What's that?" he demanded. "What's Fern got?"
"She's got a guest for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable. "Wash your hands and face, Avery!"
"Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down. "You call that miserable thing a pig? That's a fine specimen of a pig it's no bigger than a white rat."
"Wash up and eat your breakfast, Avery!" said his mother.
"The school bus will be along in half an hour."
"Can I have a pig, too, Pop?" asked Avery.
"No, I only distribute pigs to early risers," said Mr. Arable. "Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let's eat!"
But Fern couldn't eat until her pig had had a drink of milk.
Mrs. Arable found a baby's nursing bottle and a rubber nipple. She poured warm milk into the bottle, fitted the nipple over the top, and handed it to Fern. "Give him his breakfast!" she said.
A minute later, Fern was seated on the floor in the corner of the kitchen with her infant between her knees, teaching it to suck from the bottle. The pig, although tiny, had a good appetite and caught on quickly.
The school bus honked from the road.
"Run!" commanded Mrs. Arable, taking the pig from Fern and slipping a doughnut into her hand. Avery grabbed his gun and another doughnut.
The children ran out to the road and climbed into the bus. Fern took no notice of the others in the bus. She just sat and stared out of the window, thinking what a blissful world it was and how lucky she was to have entire charge of a pig. By the time the bus reached school, Fern had named her pet, selecting the most beautiful name she could think of.
"Its name is Wilbur," she whispered to herself.
She was still thinking about the pig when the teacher said: "Fern, what is the capital of Pennsylvania?"
"Wilbur," replied Fern, dreamily. The pupils giggled. Fern blushed.
"去豬圈了，"阿拉貝爾太太回答。"昨晚生了幾衹小豬。"
"我不明白他為什麽需要一把斧子，"衹有八歲的芬繼續說。
"哦"，她的母親說，"其中的一頭是個小個子。它長得又小又弱，沒有任何可留下來的價值了。所以你爸爸决定去消滅它。"
"消滅它？"芬尖叫。"你是說殺死它？就因為他比別人的個子小？"
阿拉貝爾太太把一罐乳酪放到桌上。"別嚷，芬！"她說。"你爸做的對。那頭豬不論如何都會死的。"
芬推開擋在面前的椅子就往門外跑。草地濕漉漉的，泥土裏散發着春天的氣息。等芬趕上她的爸爸時，她的運動膠鞋全都濕透了。
"請別殺它！"她嗚咽道。"這不公平！"
阿拉貝爾先生止住了腳。
"芬"，他溫柔地說，"你該學會自我控製。"
"自我控製？"芬哭叫道，"這可是一件生死大事！你卻對我說什麽自我控製！"淚水流到芬的面頰上。她抓住了斧頭柄，想把它從父親手中搶下來。
"芬"，阿拉貝爾先生說，"養小豬的事我比你知道的多。一個體質差的小豬很難養活的。現在你該放我走了！"
"可是這不公平，"芬哭叫着。"這頭豬願意讓自己生下來就小嗎，它願意嗎？如果我生下來時也很瘦小，你就會殺死我嗎？"
阿拉貝爾先生微笑了。"當然不會了，"他說着，低下頭慈愛地望着女兒。"但這是不一樣的。一個小女孩是一碼事兒，一個小瘦豬是另一碼事兒。"
"我看沒什麽不一樣，"芬回答着，仍死抓着斧柄不放。"這是我曾經聽到過的最恐怖的案件！"
約翰·阿拉貝爾先生的臉上出現了某種奇特的表情。他好像也要哭了。
"好吧，"他說。"你先回傢吧。等我回傢，我會把那頭小豬帶回來。我將讓你用奶瓶喂他，象喂嬰兒一樣。那時你就會明白一頭小豬會多麽麻煩了。"
半小時後，阿拉貝爾先生胳膊下夾着一個紙板盒回了傢。芬正在樓上換她的運動鞋。廚房的桌子上擺好了早餐，房間裏都是咖啡，薫肉的香味，濕濕的灰泥味兒，還有從爐子裏蕩出來的柴火煙味兒。
"把它放到她的椅子上！"阿拉貝爾太太說。阿拉貝爾先生把紙板盒放到芬的位子上。然後他到洗手池洗了手，用池邊滾筒上的毛巾把手擦幹。
芬慢慢地下了樓。因為剛剛哭過，她的眼還是紅紅的。當她走近她的椅子，紙板盒開始晃動起來，裏面傳出了抓搔聲。芬看了看她的父親。然後她掀起了盒蓋。從那裏面打量着她的，正是那新生的小豬。它是白色的。早晨的陽光把它的耳朵映得粉紅。
"他是你的了，"阿拉貝爾先生說。"是你使他免於一死。願上帝能原諒我這愚蠢的行為。"
芬不錯眼珠地看着這頭小小豬。"哦，"她輕聲贊美。"哦，看他呀！他漂亮極了。"
她小心的關上了蓋子。她先吻了爸爸，又吻了媽媽。然後她又揭開蓋子，把小豬舉起來，讓他貼到自己的臉上。這時，她的哥哥埃弗裏走了進來。埃弗裏十歲了。他的身上可是全副武裝呢--一隻手裏拿着氣槍，一隻手裏攥着一把木製匕首。
"那是什麽？"他問。"芬得了什麽了？"
"她有了一位來吃早餐的客人，"阿拉貝爾太太說。"埃弗裏，去洗手洗臉！"
"讓我看看它嘛！"埃弗裏說着，放下他的槍。"你說這可憐的小東西是一頭豬？這不過是一頭豬的小型復製品而已--他還沒有一隻白老鼠大呢。"
"去洗臉吃飯，埃弗裏！"他的媽媽說。"半小時內校車就要來了。"
"我也能有一頭小豬嗎，爸？"埃弗裏問。
"不，我衹把小豬送給早起的人，"阿拉貝爾先生說。"為了製止這世界上的不公正行為，芬天剛亮就起床了。結果，她現在有了一頭小豬。當然了，他的確是特別小，可不管怎麽說這都是一頭小豬。這衹是表明，如果一個人能迅速地從床上爬起來，會有什麽樣的事情發生。讓我們開飯吧！"
但是芬要等到她的小豬喝完牛奶後纔肯吃飯。阿拉貝爾太太找出了一個嬰兒用的奶瓶和奶嘴兒。她把溫乎乎的牛奶倒進奶瓶裏，又把奶嘴兒安上，纔把奶瓶遞給了芬。"給他吃早餐吧！"她說。
一分鐘後，芬坐在廚房角落裏的地板上，把她的小寶貝抱在膝頭，開始教他如何從瓶中喝奶。這小豬雖然那麽小，卻有一個好胃口，而且也學得很快。
路上響起了校車的喇叭聲。
"快跑！"阿拉貝爾太太命令着，把小豬從芬那裏抱下來，將一張油煎圈餅放到她的手上。埃弗裏趕忙抓起他的槍和另一張油煎圈餅。
孩子們跑到路邊，上了校車。在車裏，芬沒有註意其他的人。她衹是坐在那裏朝車窗外看，想着這是個多美好的世界，自己又是多麽幸運，居然可以擁有一頭小豬。在車開到學校的那一刻，芬已經給她的寶貝起好了名字，選的是她能想到的最漂亮的名字。
"它的名字是威伯"，她喃喃的自語。
當老師在課堂裏問她："芬，賓夕法尼亞洲的首府叫什麽？"時，她還在想着那頭小豬。
"威伯"，芬出神的回答。同學們格格地笑起來。芬臉紅了。
"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."
"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was only eight.
"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."
"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. "Don't yell, Fern!" she said. "Your father is right. The pig would probably die anyway."
Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime. Fern's sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her father.
"Please don't kill it!" she sobbed. "It's unfair."
Mr. Arable stopped walking.
"Fern," he said gently, "you will have to learn to control yourself."
"Control myself?" yelled Fern. "This is a matter of life and death, and you talk about _controlling myself." Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the ax and tried to pull it out of her father's hand.
"Fern," said Mr. Arable, "I know more about raising a litter of pigs than you do. A weakling makes trouble. Now run along!"
"But it's unfair," cried Fern. "The pig couldn't help being born small, could it? If I had been very small at birth, would you have killed me?"
Mr. Arable smiled. "Certainly not," he said, looking down at his daughter with love. "But this is different. A little girl is one thing, a little runty pig is another."
"I see no difference," replied Fern, still hanging on to the ax. "This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."
A queer look came over John Arable's face. He seemed almost ready to cry himself.
"All right," he said. "You go back to the house and I will bring the runt when I come in. I'll let you start it on a bottle, like a baby. Then you'll see what trouble a pig can be."
When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an hour later, he carried a carton under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing her sneakers. The kitchen table was set for breakfast, and the room smelled of coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.
"Put it on her chair!" said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable set the carton down at Fern's place. Then he walked to the sink and washed his hands and dried them on the roller towel.
Fern came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red from crying. As she approached her chair, the carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise. Fern looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its ears, turning them pink.
"He's yours," said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an untimely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness."
Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely perfect."
She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father, then she kissed her mother. Then she opened the lid again, lifted the pig out, and held it against her cheek. At this moment her brother Avery came into the room. Avery was ten.
He was heavily armed - an air rifle in one hand, a wooden dagger in the other.
"What's that?" he demanded. "What's Fern got?"
"She's got a guest for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable. "Wash your hands and face, Avery!"
"Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down. "You call that miserable thing a pig? That's a fine specimen of a pig it's no bigger than a white rat."
"Wash up and eat your breakfast, Avery!" said his mother.
"The school bus will be along in half an hour."
"Can I have a pig, too, Pop?" asked Avery.
"No, I only distribute pigs to early risers," said Mr. Arable. "Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let's eat!"
But Fern couldn't eat until her pig had had a drink of milk.
Mrs. Arable found a baby's nursing bottle and a rubber nipple. She poured warm milk into the bottle, fitted the nipple over the top, and handed it to Fern. "Give him his breakfast!" she said.
A minute later, Fern was seated on the floor in the corner of the kitchen with her infant between her knees, teaching it to suck from the bottle. The pig, although tiny, had a good appetite and caught on quickly.
The school bus honked from the road.
"Run!" commanded Mrs. Arable, taking the pig from Fern and slipping a doughnut into her hand. Avery grabbed his gun and another doughnut.
The children ran out to the road and climbed into the bus. Fern took no notice of the others in the bus. She just sat and stared out of the window, thinking what a blissful world it was and how lucky she was to have entire charge of a pig. By the time the bus reached school, Fern had named her pet, selecting the most beautiful name she could think of.
"Its name is Wilbur," she whispered to herself.
She was still thinking about the pig when the teacher said: "Fern, what is the capital of Pennsylvania?"
"Wilbur," replied Fern, dreamily. The pupils giggled. Fern blushed.
芬愛威伯勝過了一切。她喜歡撫摩着他，喂他，抱他上床睡覺。每天早晨，衹要她一起床，就親自給他熱牛奶，再為他係上圍嘴兒，為他拿着瓶子。每天下午，當校車停到她傢門前，她就會跳下車，跑到廚房為他準備另一瓶牛奶。晚飯時她還要一遍遍地喂他，直到上床就寢前為止。每天下午，芬剛離開學校的時候，阿拉貝爾太太就替芬喂威伯。威伯雖然喜歡喝奶，但衹有芬為他熱奶時，他纔感到莫大的幸福，這時他會站起來，用充滿深情的眼睛註視着她。
在威伯出生後的最初數天裏，他被允許住在廚房火爐旁的盒子裏。可後來，阿拉貝爾太太開始抱怨說，他該搬到柴棚那兒的大一點的房子裏去住。因此在兩周大的時候，他被挪到了戶外。已經快到蘋果樹開花的時候了，天氣正在變暖。阿拉貝爾先生在蘋果樹下為威伯特別圈了一座小院子，在裏面給他搭了一個鋪滿稻草的大房子，房子底下還留出一個小門，如果他高興，他可以隨時從中進出。
"他在夜裏不會冷嗎？"
"不會的，"她的父親說，"你衹要看他都在做什麽就知道了。"
芬拿了一瓶牛奶，坐到小院子裏的蘋果樹下。威伯立刻朝她跑過來，她握住奶瓶喂他喝。吸吮完最後一滴後，威伯打着滿意的呼嚕，睡意朦朧地踱進小房子裏去了。芬趴在房門口往裏窺視。見威伯正用他的鼻子拱那些稻草。衹一小會兒，他就在稻草間掘出了一個坑。他爬進坑裏，完全被稻草蓋住了，就此從芬的視綫裏消失。芬簡直看入迷了。她這纔放了心，因為她知道她的寶寶睡得既舒服又暖和。
每天早飯後，威伯都和芬一起走到路上，直到校車開來。等她揮手和他說完再見，他便站在那裏望着汽車，直到車拐個彎兒開遠。當芬上學時，威伯就被關到他的院子裏。但衹要下午芬一回來，她就會把他領出來，他便跟着她到處溜達。如果她進屋，威伯便也跟着往裏走；如果她上了樓，威伯便在臺階上等着，直到她再次走下來；如果她用嬰兒車帶着自己的玩具娃娃去散步，威伯也會在後面跟着。有時，威伯有點兒走纍了，芬就把他抱起來，放到車裏的娃娃邊上。他很喜歡這樣。如果他非常的纍，他就閉上眼睛，在娃娃身上蒙着的毯子下進入夢鄉。他閉着眼的時候看起來格外的酷，因為他的眼毛是那麽的長。娃娃也會閉眼睛呢。這時芬就會慢慢的、穩穩的推着小車，以免把她的寶寶們從夢中搖醒。
一個溫暖的下午，芬和埃弗裏穿上他們的遊泳衣去小河邊遊泳。威伯也緊緊在芬的腳後跟着，和她一齊涉進水裏。可他感覺水很涼--涼得讓他非常不喜歡。所以當孩子們開始遊泳並互相撩水玩兒時，威伯就在河邊的泥地上玩，那裏又暖又濕，讓他很開心。
每日都是快樂的，每夜都是寧靜的。
因為生在春天，所以威伯是頭農夫們所謂的"春豬"。當他有五星期大時，阿拉貝爾先生說，他現在大得可以出賣了，因此應該被賣掉。芬聽後，放聲大哭起來。但她的父親卻還是堅持要賣威伯。威伯的食量變大了，除了牛奶他也開始吃散碎的食物了，阿拉貝爾先生不願意再養他。他已經賣掉了威伯的十個哥哥姐姐了。
"他必須得走，芬，"他說。"你已經體驗到了養小豬的樂趣了，可威伯不再是小豬了，得被賣掉纔行。"
"給祖剋曼舅舅打個電話，"阿拉貝爾太太對芬建議。"你霍默舅舅也養過豬。如果威伯賣到他那裏，你就能順着小路去看威伯了--衹要你願意的話。"
"我該嚮他要多少錢呢？"芬很想知道這一點。
"該要多少呢，"她的父親說，"他長得這麽瘦。告訴你霍默舅舅，你有一頭小豬，衹賣他六美元，看他有什麽意見。"
這事一會兒就辦妥了。伊迪絲舅媽聽到芬打來的電話，便大聲的叫在𠔌倉幹活的霍默舅舅來聽。當他聽說小豬衹賣六美元時，便說他决定買下了。第二天，威伯被從他在蘋果樹下的小房子裏帶走，住進了祖剋曼先生的𠔌倉下面，地窖裏的牛糞堆旁。
For the first few days of his life, Wilbur was allowed to live in a box near the stove in the kitchen. Then, when Mrs. Arable complained, he was moved to a bigger box in the woodshed. At two weeks of age, he was moved outdoors. It was apple-blossom time, and the days were getting warmer. Mr. Arable fixed a small yard specially for Wilbur under an apple tree, and gave him a large wooden box full of straw, with a doorway cut in it so he could walk in and out as he pleased.
"Won't he be cold at night?" asked Fern.
"No," said her father. "You watch and see what he does."
Carrying a bottle of milk, Fern sat down under the apple tree inside the yard. Wilbur ran to her and she held the bottle for him while he sucked. When he had finished the last drop, he grunted and walked sleepily into the box. Fern peered through the door. Wilbur was poking the straw with his snout. In a short time he had dug a tunnel in the straw. He crawled into the tunnel and disappeared from sight, completely covered with straw.
Fern was enchanted. It relieved her mind to know that her baby would sleep covered up, and would stay warm.
Every morning after breakfast, Wilbur walked out to the road with Fern and waited with her till the bus came. She would wave good-bye to him, and he would stand and watch the bus until it vanished around a turn. While Fern was in school, Wilbur was shut up inside his yard. But as soon as she got home in the afternoon, she would take him out and he would follow her around the place. If she went into the house, Wilbur went, too. If she went upstairs, Wilbur would wait at the bottom step until she came down again. If she took her doll for a walk in the doll carriage, Wilbur followed along. Sometimes, on these journeys, Wilbur would get tired, and Fern would pick him up and put him in the carriage alongside the doll. He liked this. And if he was very tired, he would close his eyes and go to sleep under the doll's blanket. He looked cute when his eyes were closed, because his lashes were so long. The doll would close her eyes, too, and Fern would wheel the carriage very slowly and smoothly so as not to wake her infants.
One warm afternoon, Fern and Avery put on bathing suits and went down to the brook for a swim. Wilbur tagged along at Fern's heels. When she waded into the brook, Wilbur waded in with her. He found the water quite cold - too cold for his liking. So while the children swam and played and splashed water at each other, Wilbur amused himself in the mud along the edge of the brook, where it was warm and moist and delightfully sticky and oozy.
Every day was a happy day, and every night was peaceful.
Wilbur was what farmers call a spring pig, which simply means that he was born in springtime. When he was five weeks old, Mr. Arable said he was now big enough to sell, and would have to be sold. Fern broke down and wept. But her father was firm about it. Wilbur's appetite had increased; he was beginning to eat scraps of food in addition to milk. Mr. Arable was not willing to provide for him any longer. He had already sold Wilbur's ten brothers and sisters.
"He's got to go, Fern," he said. "You have had your fun raising a baby pig, but Wilbur is not a baby any longer and he has got to be sold."
"Call up the Zuckermans," suggested Mrs. Arable to Fern. "Your Uncle Homer sometimes raises a pig. And if Wilbur goes there to live, you can walk down the road and visit him as often as you like."
"How much money should I ask for him?" Fern wanted to know.
"Well," said her father, "he's a runt. Tell your Uncle Homer you've got a pig you'll sell for six dollars, and see what he says."
It was soon arranged. Fern phoned and got her Aunt Edith, and her Aunt Edith hollered for Uncle Homer, and Uncle Homer came in from the barn and talked to Fern. When he heard that the price was only six dollars, he said he would buy the pig. Next day Wilbur was taken from his home under the apple tree and went to live in a manure pile in the cellar of Zuckerman's barn.
在威伯出生後的最初數天裏，他被允許住在廚房火爐旁的盒子裏。可後來，阿拉貝爾太太開始抱怨說，他該搬到柴棚那兒的大一點的房子裏去住。因此在兩周大的時候，他被挪到了戶外。已經快到蘋果樹開花的時候了，天氣正在變暖。阿拉貝爾先生在蘋果樹下為威伯特別圈了一座小院子，在裏面給他搭了一個鋪滿稻草的大房子，房子底下還留出一個小門，如果他高興，他可以隨時從中進出。
"他在夜裏不會冷嗎？"
"不會的，"她的父親說，"你衹要看他都在做什麽就知道了。"
芬拿了一瓶牛奶，坐到小院子裏的蘋果樹下。威伯立刻朝她跑過來，她握住奶瓶喂他喝。吸吮完最後一滴後，威伯打着滿意的呼嚕，睡意朦朧地踱進小房子裏去了。芬趴在房門口往裏窺視。見威伯正用他的鼻子拱那些稻草。衹一小會兒，他就在稻草間掘出了一個坑。他爬進坑裏，完全被稻草蓋住了，就此從芬的視綫裏消失。芬簡直看入迷了。她這纔放了心，因為她知道她的寶寶睡得既舒服又暖和。
每天早飯後，威伯都和芬一起走到路上，直到校車開來。等她揮手和他說完再見，他便站在那裏望着汽車，直到車拐個彎兒開遠。當芬上學時，威伯就被關到他的院子裏。但衹要下午芬一回來，她就會把他領出來，他便跟着她到處溜達。如果她進屋，威伯便也跟着往裏走；如果她上了樓，威伯便在臺階上等着，直到她再次走下來；如果她用嬰兒車帶着自己的玩具娃娃去散步，威伯也會在後面跟着。有時，威伯有點兒走纍了，芬就把他抱起來，放到車裏的娃娃邊上。他很喜歡這樣。如果他非常的纍，他就閉上眼睛，在娃娃身上蒙着的毯子下進入夢鄉。他閉着眼的時候看起來格外的酷，因為他的眼毛是那麽的長。娃娃也會閉眼睛呢。這時芬就會慢慢的、穩穩的推着小車，以免把她的寶寶們從夢中搖醒。
一個溫暖的下午，芬和埃弗裏穿上他們的遊泳衣去小河邊遊泳。威伯也緊緊在芬的腳後跟着，和她一齊涉進水裏。可他感覺水很涼--涼得讓他非常不喜歡。所以當孩子們開始遊泳並互相撩水玩兒時，威伯就在河邊的泥地上玩，那裏又暖又濕，讓他很開心。
每日都是快樂的，每夜都是寧靜的。
因為生在春天，所以威伯是頭農夫們所謂的"春豬"。當他有五星期大時，阿拉貝爾先生說，他現在大得可以出賣了，因此應該被賣掉。芬聽後，放聲大哭起來。但她的父親卻還是堅持要賣威伯。威伯的食量變大了，除了牛奶他也開始吃散碎的食物了，阿拉貝爾先生不願意再養他。他已經賣掉了威伯的十個哥哥姐姐了。
"他必須得走，芬，"他說。"你已經體驗到了養小豬的樂趣了，可威伯不再是小豬了，得被賣掉纔行。"
"給祖剋曼舅舅打個電話，"阿拉貝爾太太對芬建議。"你霍默舅舅也養過豬。如果威伯賣到他那裏，你就能順着小路去看威伯了--衹要你願意的話。"
"我該嚮他要多少錢呢？"芬很想知道這一點。
"該要多少呢，"她的父親說，"他長得這麽瘦。告訴你霍默舅舅，你有一頭小豬，衹賣他六美元，看他有什麽意見。"
這事一會兒就辦妥了。伊迪絲舅媽聽到芬打來的電話，便大聲的叫在𠔌倉幹活的霍默舅舅來聽。當他聽說小豬衹賣六美元時，便說他决定買下了。第二天，威伯被從他在蘋果樹下的小房子裏帶走，住進了祖剋曼先生的𠔌倉下面，地窖裏的牛糞堆旁。
For the first few days of his life, Wilbur was allowed to live in a box near the stove in the kitchen. Then, when Mrs. Arable complained, he was moved to a bigger box in the woodshed. At two weeks of age, he was moved outdoors. It was apple-blossom time, and the days were getting warmer. Mr. Arable fixed a small yard specially for Wilbur under an apple tree, and gave him a large wooden box full of straw, with a doorway cut in it so he could walk in and out as he pleased.
"Won't he be cold at night?" asked Fern.
"No," said her father. "You watch and see what he does."
Carrying a bottle of milk, Fern sat down under the apple tree inside the yard. Wilbur ran to her and she held the bottle for him while he sucked. When he had finished the last drop, he grunted and walked sleepily into the box. Fern peered through the door. Wilbur was poking the straw with his snout. In a short time he had dug a tunnel in the straw. He crawled into the tunnel and disappeared from sight, completely covered with straw.
Fern was enchanted. It relieved her mind to know that her baby would sleep covered up, and would stay warm.
Every morning after breakfast, Wilbur walked out to the road with Fern and waited with her till the bus came. She would wave good-bye to him, and he would stand and watch the bus until it vanished around a turn. While Fern was in school, Wilbur was shut up inside his yard. But as soon as she got home in the afternoon, she would take him out and he would follow her around the place. If she went into the house, Wilbur went, too. If she went upstairs, Wilbur would wait at the bottom step until she came down again. If she took her doll for a walk in the doll carriage, Wilbur followed along. Sometimes, on these journeys, Wilbur would get tired, and Fern would pick him up and put him in the carriage alongside the doll. He liked this. And if he was very tired, he would close his eyes and go to sleep under the doll's blanket. He looked cute when his eyes were closed, because his lashes were so long. The doll would close her eyes, too, and Fern would wheel the carriage very slowly and smoothly so as not to wake her infants.
One warm afternoon, Fern and Avery put on bathing suits and went down to the brook for a swim. Wilbur tagged along at Fern's heels. When she waded into the brook, Wilbur waded in with her. He found the water quite cold - too cold for his liking. So while the children swam and played and splashed water at each other, Wilbur amused himself in the mud along the edge of the brook, where it was warm and moist and delightfully sticky and oozy.
Every day was a happy day, and every night was peaceful.
Wilbur was what farmers call a spring pig, which simply means that he was born in springtime. When he was five weeks old, Mr. Arable said he was now big enough to sell, and would have to be sold. Fern broke down and wept. But her father was firm about it. Wilbur's appetite had increased; he was beginning to eat scraps of food in addition to milk. Mr. Arable was not willing to provide for him any longer. He had already sold Wilbur's ten brothers and sisters.
"He's got to go, Fern," he said. "You have had your fun raising a baby pig, but Wilbur is not a baby any longer and he has got to be sold."
"Call up the Zuckermans," suggested Mrs. Arable to Fern. "Your Uncle Homer sometimes raises a pig. And if Wilbur goes there to live, you can walk down the road and visit him as often as you like."
"How much money should I ask for him?" Fern wanted to know.
"Well," said her father, "he's a runt. Tell your Uncle Homer you've got a pig you'll sell for six dollars, and see what he says."
It was soon arranged. Fern phoned and got her Aunt Edith, and her Aunt Edith hollered for Uncle Homer, and Uncle Homer came in from the barn and talked to Fern. When he heard that the price was only six dollars, he said he would buy the pig. Next day Wilbur was taken from his home under the apple tree and went to live in a manure pile in the cellar of Zuckerman's barn.