WHERE'S Papa going with that ax?
said Fern to her mother as they
were setting the table for breakfast.
"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 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 4 Charlotte's Web
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. F em
looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the car-
ton. 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 un-
timely 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 per-
fect."
She closed the canon 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 A very came
into the room. A very 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?"
11She's got a guest for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable.
11Wash your hands and face, Avery!"
"Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down.
uy ou 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. "F em 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