"爸爸拿着斧子去哪儿了？"在他们收拾桌子准备吃早饭时，芬问她的母亲。
"去猪圈了，"阿拉贝尔太太回答。"昨晚生了几只小猪。"
"我不明白他为什么需要一把斧子，"只有八岁的芬继续说。
"哦"，她的母亲说，"其中的一头是个小个子。它长得又小又弱，没有任何可留下来的价值了。所以你爸爸决定去消灭它。"
"消灭它？"芬尖叫。"你是说杀死它？就因为他比别人的个子小？"
阿拉贝尔太太把一罐乳酪放到桌上。"别嚷，芬！"她说。"你爸做的对。那头猪不论如何都会死的。"
芬推开挡在面前的椅子就往门外跑。草地湿漉漉的，泥土里散发着春天的气息。等芬赶上她的爸爸时，她的运动胶鞋全都湿透了。
"请别杀它！"她呜咽道。"这不公平！"
阿拉贝尔先生止住了脚。
"芬"，他温柔地说，"你该学会自我控制。"
"自我控制？"芬哭叫道，"这可是一件生死大事！你却对我说什么自我控制！"泪水流到芬的面颊上。她抓住了斧头柄，想把它从父亲手中抢下来。
"芬"，阿拉贝尔先生说，"养小猪的事我比你知道的多。一个体质差的小猪很难养活的。现在你该放我走了！"
"可是这不公平，"芬哭叫着。"这头猪愿意让自己生下来就小吗，它愿意吗？如果我生下来时也很瘦小，你就会杀死我吗？"
阿拉贝尔先生微笑了。"当然不会了，"他说着，低下头慈爱地望着女儿。"但这是不一样的。一个小女孩是一码事儿，一个小瘦猪是另一码事儿。"
"我看没什么不一样，"芬回答着，仍死抓着斧柄不放。"这是我曾经听到过的最恐怖的案件！"
约翰·阿拉贝尔先生的脸上出现了某种奇特的表情。他好像也要哭了。
"好吧，"他说。"你先回家吧。等我回家，我会把那头小猪带回来。我将让你用奶瓶喂他，象喂婴儿一样。那时你就会明白一头小猪会多么麻烦了。"
半小时后，阿拉贝尔先生胳膊下夹着一个纸板盒回了家。芬正在楼上换她的运动鞋。厨房的桌子上摆好了早餐，房间里都是咖啡，薰肉的香味，湿湿的灰泥味儿，还有从炉子里荡出来的柴火烟味儿。
"把它放到她的椅子上！"阿拉贝尔太太说。阿拉贝尔先生把纸板盒放到芬的位子上。然后他到洗手池洗了手，用池边滚筒上的毛巾把手擦干。
芬慢慢地下了楼。因为刚刚哭过，她的眼还是红红的。当她走近她的椅子，纸板盒开始晃动起来，里面传出了抓搔声。芬看了看她的父亲。然后她掀起了盒盖。从那里面打量着她的，正是那新生的小猪。它是白色的。早晨的阳光把它的耳朵映得粉红。
"他是你的了，"阿拉贝尔先生说。"是你使他免于一死。愿上帝能原谅我这愚蠢的行为。"
芬不错眼珠地看着这头小小猪。"哦，"她轻声赞美。"哦，看他呀！他漂亮极了。"
她小心的关上了盖子。她先吻了爸爸，又吻了妈妈。然后她又揭开盖子，把小猪举起来，让他贴到自己的脸上。这时，她的哥哥埃弗里走了进来。埃弗里十岁了。他的身上可是全副武装呢--一只手里拿着气枪，一只手里攥着一把木制匕首。
"那是什么？"他问。"芬得了什么了？"
"她有了一位来吃早餐的客人，"阿拉贝尔太太说。"埃弗里，去洗手洗脸！"
"让我看看它嘛！"埃弗里说着，放下他的枪。"你说这可怜的小东西是一头猪？这不过是一头猪的小型复制品而已--他还没有一只白老鼠大呢。"
"去洗脸吃饭，埃弗里！"他的妈妈说。"半小时内校车就要来了。"
"我也能有一头小猪吗，爸？"埃弗里问。
"不，我只把小猪送给早起的人，"阿拉贝尔先生说。"为了制止这世界上的不公正行为，芬天刚亮就起床了。结果，她现在有了一头小猪。当然了，他的确是特别小，可不管怎么说这都是一头小猪。这只是表明，如果一个人能迅速地从床上爬起来，会有什么样的事情发生。让我们开饭吧！"
但是芬要等到她的小猪喝完牛奶后才肯吃饭。阿拉贝尔太太找出了一个婴儿用的奶瓶和奶嘴儿。她把温乎乎的牛奶倒进奶瓶里，又把奶嘴儿安上，才把奶瓶递给了芬。"给他吃早餐吧！"她说。
一分钟后，芬坐在厨房角落里的地板上，把她的小宝贝抱在膝头，开始教他如何从瓶中喝奶。这小猪虽然那么小，却有一个好胃口，而且也学得很快。
路上响起了校车的喇叭声。
"快跑！"阿拉贝尔太太命令着，把小猪从芬那里抱下来，将一张油煎圈饼放到她的手上。埃弗里赶忙抓起他的枪和另一张油煎圈饼。
孩子们跑到路边，上了校车。在车里，芬没有注意其他的人。她只是坐在那里朝车窗外看，想着这是个多美好的世界，自己又是多么幸运，居然可以拥有一头小猪。在车开到学校的那一刻，芬已经给她的宝贝起好了名字，选的是她能想到的最漂亮的名字。
"它的名字是威伯"，她喃喃的自语。
当老师在课堂里问她："芬，宾夕法尼亚洲的首府叫什么？"时，她还在想着那头小猪。
"威伯"，芬出神的回答。同学们格格地笑起来。芬脸红了。
"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.
"去猪圈了，"阿拉贝尔太太回答。"昨晚生了几只小猪。"
"我不明白他为什么需要一把斧子，"只有八岁的芬继续说。
"哦"，她的母亲说，"其中的一头是个小个子。它长得又小又弱，没有任何可留下来的价值了。所以你爸爸决定去消灭它。"
"消灭它？"芬尖叫。"你是说杀死它？就因为他比别人的个子小？"
阿拉贝尔太太把一罐乳酪放到桌上。"别嚷，芬！"她说。"你爸做的对。那头猪不论如何都会死的。"
芬推开挡在面前的椅子就往门外跑。草地湿漉漉的，泥土里散发着春天的气息。等芬赶上她的爸爸时，她的运动胶鞋全都湿透了。
"请别杀它！"她呜咽道。"这不公平！"
阿拉贝尔先生止住了脚。
"芬"，他温柔地说，"你该学会自我控制。"
"自我控制？"芬哭叫道，"这可是一件生死大事！你却对我说什么自我控制！"泪水流到芬的面颊上。她抓住了斧头柄，想把它从父亲手中抢下来。
"芬"，阿拉贝尔先生说，"养小猪的事我比你知道的多。一个体质差的小猪很难养活的。现在你该放我走了！"
"可是这不公平，"芬哭叫着。"这头猪愿意让自己生下来就小吗，它愿意吗？如果我生下来时也很瘦小，你就会杀死我吗？"
阿拉贝尔先生微笑了。"当然不会了，"他说着，低下头慈爱地望着女儿。"但这是不一样的。一个小女孩是一码事儿，一个小瘦猪是另一码事儿。"
"我看没什么不一样，"芬回答着，仍死抓着斧柄不放。"这是我曾经听到过的最恐怖的案件！"
约翰·阿拉贝尔先生的脸上出现了某种奇特的表情。他好像也要哭了。
"好吧，"他说。"你先回家吧。等我回家，我会把那头小猪带回来。我将让你用奶瓶喂他，象喂婴儿一样。那时你就会明白一头小猪会多么麻烦了。"
半小时后，阿拉贝尔先生胳膊下夹着一个纸板盒回了家。芬正在楼上换她的运动鞋。厨房的桌子上摆好了早餐，房间里都是咖啡，薰肉的香味，湿湿的灰泥味儿，还有从炉子里荡出来的柴火烟味儿。
"把它放到她的椅子上！"阿拉贝尔太太说。阿拉贝尔先生把纸板盒放到芬的位子上。然后他到洗手池洗了手，用池边滚筒上的毛巾把手擦干。
芬慢慢地下了楼。因为刚刚哭过，她的眼还是红红的。当她走近她的椅子，纸板盒开始晃动起来，里面传出了抓搔声。芬看了看她的父亲。然后她掀起了盒盖。从那里面打量着她的，正是那新生的小猪。它是白色的。早晨的阳光把它的耳朵映得粉红。
"他是你的了，"阿拉贝尔先生说。"是你使他免于一死。愿上帝能原谅我这愚蠢的行为。"
芬不错眼珠地看着这头小小猪。"哦，"她轻声赞美。"哦，看他呀！他漂亮极了。"
她小心的关上了盖子。她先吻了爸爸，又吻了妈妈。然后她又揭开盖子，把小猪举起来，让他贴到自己的脸上。这时，她的哥哥埃弗里走了进来。埃弗里十岁了。他的身上可是全副武装呢--一只手里拿着气枪，一只手里攥着一把木制匕首。
"那是什么？"他问。"芬得了什么了？"
"她有了一位来吃早餐的客人，"阿拉贝尔太太说。"埃弗里，去洗手洗脸！"
"让我看看它嘛！"埃弗里说着，放下他的枪。"你说这可怜的小东西是一头猪？这不过是一头猪的小型复制品而已--他还没有一只白老鼠大呢。"
"去洗脸吃饭，埃弗里！"他的妈妈说。"半小时内校车就要来了。"
"我也能有一头小猪吗，爸？"埃弗里问。
"不，我只把小猪送给早起的人，"阿拉贝尔先生说。"为了制止这世界上的不公正行为，芬天刚亮就起床了。结果，她现在有了一头小猪。当然了，他的确是特别小，可不管怎么说这都是一头小猪。这只是表明，如果一个人能迅速地从床上爬起来，会有什么样的事情发生。让我们开饭吧！"
但是芬要等到她的小猪喝完牛奶后才肯吃饭。阿拉贝尔太太找出了一个婴儿用的奶瓶和奶嘴儿。她把温乎乎的牛奶倒进奶瓶里，又把奶嘴儿安上，才把奶瓶递给了芬。"给他吃早餐吧！"她说。
一分钟后，芬坐在厨房角落里的地板上，把她的小宝贝抱在膝头，开始教他如何从瓶中喝奶。这小猪虽然那么小，却有一个好胃口，而且也学得很快。
路上响起了校车的喇叭声。
"快跑！"阿拉贝尔太太命令着，把小猪从芬那里抱下来，将一张油煎圈饼放到她的手上。埃弗里赶忙抓起他的枪和另一张油煎圈饼。
孩子们跑到路边，上了校车。在车里，芬没有注意其他的人。她只是坐在那里朝车窗外看，想着这是个多美好的世界，自己又是多么幸运，居然可以拥有一头小猪。在车开到学校的那一刻，芬已经给她的宝贝起好了名字，选的是她能想到的最漂亮的名字。
"它的名字是威伯"，她喃喃的自语。
当老师在课堂里问她："芬，宾夕法尼亚洲的首府叫什么？"时，她还在想着那头小猪。
"威伯"，芬出神的回答。同学们格格地笑起来。芬脸红了。
"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.
芬爱威伯胜过了一切。她喜欢抚摩着他，喂他，抱他上床睡觉。每天早晨，只要她一起床，就亲自给他热牛奶，再为他系上围嘴儿，为他拿着瓶子。每天下午，当校车停到她家门前，她就会跳下车，跑到厨房为他准备另一瓶牛奶。晚饭时她还要一遍遍地喂他，直到上床就寝前为止。每天下午，芬刚离开学校的时候，阿拉贝尔太太就替芬喂威伯。威伯虽然喜欢喝奶，但只有芬为他热奶时，他才感到莫大的幸福，这时他会站起来，用充满深情的眼睛注视着她。
在威伯出生后的最初数天里，他被允许住在厨房火炉旁的盒子里。可后来，阿拉贝尔太太开始抱怨说，他该搬到柴棚那儿的大一点的房子里去住。因此在两周大的时候，他被挪到了户外。已经快到苹果树开花的时候了，天气正在变暖。阿拉贝尔先生在苹果树下为威伯特别圈了一座小院子，在里面给他搭了一个铺满稻草的大房子，房子底下还留出一个小门，如果他高兴，他可以随时从中进出。
"他在夜里不会冷吗？"
"不会的，"她的父亲说，"你只要看他都在做什么就知道了。"
芬拿了一瓶牛奶，坐到小院子里的苹果树下。威伯立刻朝她跑过来，她握住奶瓶喂他喝。吸吮完最后一滴后，威伯打着满意的呼噜，睡意朦胧地踱进小房子里去了。芬趴在房门口往里窥视。见威伯正用他的鼻子拱那些稻草。只一小会儿，他就在稻草间掘出了一个坑。他爬进坑里，完全被稻草盖住了，就此从芬的视线里消失。芬简直看入迷了。她这才放了心，因为她知道她的宝宝睡得既舒服又暖和。
每天早饭后，威伯都和芬一起走到路上，直到校车开来。等她挥手和他说完再见，他便站在那里望着汽车，直到车拐个弯儿开远。当芬上学时，威伯就被关到他的院子里。但只要下午芬一回来，她就会把他领出来，他便跟着她到处溜达。如果她进屋，威伯便也跟着往里走；如果她上了楼，威伯便在台阶上等着，直到她再次走下来；如果她用婴儿车带着自己的玩具娃娃去散步，威伯也会在后面跟着。有时，威伯有点儿走累了，芬就把他抱起来，放到车里的娃娃边上。他很喜欢这样。如果他非常的累，他就闭上眼睛，在娃娃身上蒙着的毯子下进入梦乡。他闭着眼的时候看起来格外的酷，因为他的眼毛是那么的长。娃娃也会闭眼睛呢。这时芬就会慢慢的、稳稳的推着小车，以免把她的宝宝们从梦中摇醒。
一个温暖的下午，芬和埃弗里穿上他们的游泳衣去小河边游泳。威伯也紧紧在芬的脚后跟着，和她一齐涉进水里。可他感觉水很凉--凉得让他非常不喜欢。所以当孩子们开始游泳并互相撩水玩儿时，威伯就在河边的泥地上玩，那里又暖又湿，让他很开心。
每日都是快乐的，每夜都是宁静的。
因为生在春天，所以威伯是头农夫们所谓的"春猪"。当他有五星期大时，阿拉贝尔先生说，他现在大得可以出卖了，因此应该被卖掉。芬听后，放声大哭起来。但她的父亲却还是坚持要卖威伯。威伯的食量变大了，除了牛奶他也开始吃散碎的食物了，阿拉贝尔先生不愿意再养他。他已经卖掉了威伯的十个哥哥姐姐了。
"他必须得走，芬，"他说。"你已经体验到了养小猪的乐趣了，可威伯不再是小猪了，得被卖掉才行。"
"给祖克曼舅舅打个电话，"阿拉贝尔太太对芬建议。"你霍默舅舅也养过猪。如果威伯卖到他那里，你就能顺着小路去看威伯了--只要你愿意的话。"
"我该向他要多少钱呢？"芬很想知道这一点。
"该要多少呢，"她的父亲说，"他长得这么瘦。告诉你霍默舅舅，你有一头小猪，只卖他六美元，看他有什么意见。"
这事一会儿就办妥了。伊迪丝舅妈听到芬打来的电话，便大声的叫在谷仓干活的霍默舅舅来听。当他听说小猪只卖六美元时，便说他决定买下了。第二天，威伯被从他在苹果树下的小房子里带走，住进了祖克曼先生的谷仓下面，地窖里的牛粪堆旁。
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.
在威伯出生后的最初数天里，他被允许住在厨房火炉旁的盒子里。可后来，阿拉贝尔太太开始抱怨说，他该搬到柴棚那儿的大一点的房子里去住。因此在两周大的时候，他被挪到了户外。已经快到苹果树开花的时候了，天气正在变暖。阿拉贝尔先生在苹果树下为威伯特别圈了一座小院子，在里面给他搭了一个铺满稻草的大房子，房子底下还留出一个小门，如果他高兴，他可以随时从中进出。
"他在夜里不会冷吗？"
"不会的，"她的父亲说，"你只要看他都在做什么就知道了。"
芬拿了一瓶牛奶，坐到小院子里的苹果树下。威伯立刻朝她跑过来，她握住奶瓶喂他喝。吸吮完最后一滴后，威伯打着满意的呼噜，睡意朦胧地踱进小房子里去了。芬趴在房门口往里窥视。见威伯正用他的鼻子拱那些稻草。只一小会儿，他就在稻草间掘出了一个坑。他爬进坑里，完全被稻草盖住了，就此从芬的视线里消失。芬简直看入迷了。她这才放了心，因为她知道她的宝宝睡得既舒服又暖和。
每天早饭后，威伯都和芬一起走到路上，直到校车开来。等她挥手和他说完再见，他便站在那里望着汽车，直到车拐个弯儿开远。当芬上学时，威伯就被关到他的院子里。但只要下午芬一回来，她就会把他领出来，他便跟着她到处溜达。如果她进屋，威伯便也跟着往里走；如果她上了楼，威伯便在台阶上等着，直到她再次走下来；如果她用婴儿车带着自己的玩具娃娃去散步，威伯也会在后面跟着。有时，威伯有点儿走累了，芬就把他抱起来，放到车里的娃娃边上。他很喜欢这样。如果他非常的累，他就闭上眼睛，在娃娃身上蒙着的毯子下进入梦乡。他闭着眼的时候看起来格外的酷，因为他的眼毛是那么的长。娃娃也会闭眼睛呢。这时芬就会慢慢的、稳稳的推着小车，以免把她的宝宝们从梦中摇醒。
一个温暖的下午，芬和埃弗里穿上他们的游泳衣去小河边游泳。威伯也紧紧在芬的脚后跟着，和她一齐涉进水里。可他感觉水很凉--凉得让他非常不喜欢。所以当孩子们开始游泳并互相撩水玩儿时，威伯就在河边的泥地上玩，那里又暖又湿，让他很开心。
每日都是快乐的，每夜都是宁静的。
因为生在春天，所以威伯是头农夫们所谓的"春猪"。当他有五星期大时，阿拉贝尔先生说，他现在大得可以出卖了，因此应该被卖掉。芬听后，放声大哭起来。但她的父亲却还是坚持要卖威伯。威伯的食量变大了，除了牛奶他也开始吃散碎的食物了，阿拉贝尔先生不愿意再养他。他已经卖掉了威伯的十个哥哥姐姐了。
"他必须得走，芬，"他说。"你已经体验到了养小猪的乐趣了，可威伯不再是小猪了，得被卖掉才行。"
"给祖克曼舅舅打个电话，"阿拉贝尔太太对芬建议。"你霍默舅舅也养过猪。如果威伯卖到他那里，你就能顺着小路去看威伯了--只要你愿意的话。"
"我该向他要多少钱呢？"芬很想知道这一点。
"该要多少呢，"她的父亲说，"他长得这么瘦。告诉你霍默舅舅，你有一头小猪，只卖他六美元，看他有什么意见。"
这事一会儿就办妥了。伊迪丝舅妈听到芬打来的电话，便大声的叫在谷仓干活的霍默舅舅来听。当他听说小猪只卖六美元时，便说他决定买下了。第二天，威伯被从他在苹果树下的小房子里带走，住进了祖克曼先生的谷仓下面，地窖里的牛粪堆旁。
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.