He vanished into the shadows.
Charlotte went back to her work. It was quite dark now. In the distance, fireworks began going off - rockets, scattering fiery balls in the sky. By the time the Arables and the Zuckermans and Lurvy returned from the grandstand, Charlotte had finished her web. The word HUMBLE was woven neatly in the center. Nobody noticed it in the darkness. Everyone was tired and happy.
Fern and Avery climbed into the truck and lay down. They pulled the Indian blanket over them. Lurvy gave Wilbur a forkful of fresh straw. Mr. Arable patted him. "Time for us to go home," he said to the pig. "See you tomorrow."
The grownups climbed slowly into the truck and Wilbur heard the engine start and then heard the truck moving away in low speed. He would have felt lonely and homesick, had Charlotte not been with him. He never felt lonely when she was near. In the distance he could still hear the music of the merry-go-round.
As he was dropping off to sleep he spoke to Charlotte.
"Sing me that song again, about the dung and the dark," he begged.
"Not tonight," she said in a low voice. "I’m too tired."
Her voice didn’t seem to come from her web.
"Where are you?" asked Wilbur. "I can’t see you. Are you on your web?"
"I’m back here," she answered. "Up in this back corner."
"Why aren’t you on your web?" asked Wilbur. "You almost never leave your web."
"I’ve left it tonight," she said.
Wilbur closed his eyes. "Charlotte," he said, after a while, "do you really think Zuckerman will let me live and not kill me when the cold weather comes? Do you really think so?"
"Of course," said Charlotte. "You are a famous pig and you are a good pig. Tomorrow you will probably win a prize. The whole world will hear about you. Zuckerman will be proud and happy to own such a pig. You have nothing to fear, Wilbur nothing to worry about. Maybe you’ll live forever - who knows?
And now, go to sleep."
For a while there was no sound. Then Wilbur’s voice:
"What are you doing up there, Charlotte?"
"Oh, making something," she said. "Making something, as usual."
"Is it something for me?" asked Wilbur.
"No," said Charlotte. "It’s something for me, for a change."
"Please tell me what it is," begged Wilbur.
"I’ll tell you in the morning," she said. "When the first light comes into the sky and the sparrows stir and the cows rattle their chains, when the rooster crows and the stars fade, when early cars whisper along the highway, you look up here and I’ll show you something. I will show you my masterpiece."
Before she finished the sentence, Wilbur was asleep. She could tell by the sound of his breathing that he was sleeping peacefully, deep in the straw.
Miles away, at the Arables’ house, the men sat around the kitchen table eating a dish of canned peaches and talking over the events of the day. Upstairs, Avery was already in bed and asleep. Mrs. Arable was tucking Fern into bed.
"Did you have a good time at the Fair?" she asked as she kissed her daughter.
Fern nodded. "I had the best time I have ever had anywhere or any time in all of my whole life."
"Well!" said Mrs. Arable. "Isn’t that nice!"
CHAPTER 19
The Egg Sac
Next morning when the first light came into the sky and the sparrows stirred in the trees, when the cows rattled their chains and the rooster crowed and the early automobiles went whispering along the road, Wilbur awoke and looked for Charlotte. He saw her up overhead in a corner near the back of his pen. She was very quiet. Her eight legs were spread wide. She seemed to have shrunk during the night. Next to her, attached to the ceiling, Wilbur saw a curious object. It was a sort of sac, or cocoon. It was peach-colored and looked as though it were made of cotton candy.
"Are you awake, Charlotte?" he said softly.
"Yes," came the answer.
"What is that nifty little thing? Did you make it?"
"I did indeed," replied Charlotte in a weak voice.
"Is it a plaything?"
"Plaything? I should say not. It is my egg sac, my magnum opus."
"I don’t know what a magnum opus is," said Wilbur.
"That’s Latin," explained Charlotte. "It means ’great work." This egg sac is my great work - the finest thing I have ever made."
"What’s inside it?" asked Wilbur. "Eggs?"
"Five hundred and fourteen of them," she replied.
"Five hundred and fourteen?" said Wilbur. "You’re kidding."
"No, I’m not. I counted them. I got started counting so I kept on - just to keep my mind occupied."
"It’s a perfectly beautiful egg sac," said Wilbur, feeling as happy as though he had constructed it himself.
"Yes, it is pretty," replied Charlotte, patting the sac with her two front legs. "Anyway, I can guarantee that it is strong.
It’s made out of the toughest material I have. It is also waterproof. The eggs are inside and will be warm and dry."
"Charlotte," said Wilbur dreamily, "are you really going to have five hundred and fourteen children?"
"If nothing happens, yes," she said. "Of course, they won’t show up till next spring." Wilbur noticed that Charlotte’s voice sounded sad.
"What makes you sound so down-hearted? I should think you’d be terribly happy about this."
"Oh, don’t pay any attention to me," said Charlotte. "I just don’t have much pep any more. I guess I feel sad because I won’t ever see my children."
"What do you mean you won’t see your children! Of course you will. We’ll all see them. It’s going to be simply wonderful next spring in the barn cellar with five hundred and fourteen baby spiders running around all over the place. And the geese will have a new set of goslings, and the sheep will have their new lambs …"
"Maybe," said Charlotte quietly. "However, I have a feeling I’m not going to see the results of last night’s efforts. I don’t feel good at all. I think I’m languishing, to tell you the truth."
Wilbur didn’t understand the word "languish" and he hated to bother Charlotte by asking her to explain. But he was so worried he felt he had to ask.
"What does ’languishing’ mean?"
"It means I’m slowing up, feeling my age. I’m not young any more, Wilbur. But I don’t want you to worry about me. This is your big day today. Look at my web - doesn’t it show up well with the dew on it?"
Charlotte’s web never looked more beautiful than it looked this morning. Each strand held dozens of bright drops of early morning dew. The light from the east struck it and made it all plain and clear. It was a perfect piece of designing and building. In another hour or two, a steady stream of people would pass by, admiring it, and reading it, and looking at Wilbur, and marveling at the miracle.
As Wilbur was studying the web, a pair of whiskers and a sharp face appeared. Slowly Templeton dragged himself across the pen and threw himself down in a corner.
"I’m back," he said in a husky voice. "What a night!"
The rat was swollen to twice his normal size. His stomach was as big around as a jelly jar.
"What a night!" he repeated, hoarsely. "What feasting and carousing! A real gorge! I must have eaten the remains of thirty lunches. Never have I seen such leavings, and everything well-ripened and seasoned with the passage of time and the heat of the day. Oh, it was rich, my friends, rich!"