Wilbur’s heart pounded. He began to squeal. Then he raced in circles, kicking manure into the air. Then he turned a back flip. Then he planted his front feet and came to a stop in front of Charlotte’s children.
"Hello, there!" he said.
The first spider said hello, but its voice was so small Wilbur couldn’t hear it.
"I am an old friend of your mother’s," said Wilbur. "I’m glad to see you. Are you all right? Is everything all right?"
The little spiders waved their forelegs at him. Wilbur could see by the way they acted that they were glad to see him.
"Is there anything I can get you? Is there anything you need?"
The young spiders just waved. For several days and several nights they crawled here and there, up and down, around and about, waving at Wilbur, trailing tiny draglines behind them, and exploring their home. There were dozens and dozens of them. Wilbur couldn’t count them, but he knew that he had a great many new friends. They grew quite rapidly. Soon each was as big as a BB shot. They made tiny webs near the sac.
Then came a quiet morning when Mr. Zuckerman opened a door on the north side. A warm draft of rising air blew softly through the barn cellar. The air smelled of the damp earth, of the spruce woods, of the sweet springtime. The baby spiders felt the warm updraft. One spider climbed to the top of the fence. Then it did something that came as a great surprise to Wilbur. The spider stood on its head, pointed its spinnerets in the air, and let loose a cloud of fine silk. The silk formed a balloon. As Wilbur watched, the spider let go of the fence and rose into the air.
"Good-bye!" it said, as it sailed through the doorway.
"Wait a minute! " screamed Wilbur. "Where do you think you’re going?"
But the spider was already out of sight. Then another baby spider crawled to the top of the fence, stood on its head, made a balloon, and sailed away. Then another spider. Then another. The air was soon filled with tiny balloons, each balloon carrying a spider.
Wilbur was frantic. Charlotte’s babies were disappearing at a great rate.
"Come back, children!" he cried.
"Good-bye!" they called. "Good-bye, good-bye!" At last one little spider took time enough to stop and talk to Wilbur before making its balloon.
"We’re leaving here on the warm updraft. This is our moment for setting forth. We are aeronauts and we are going out into the world to make webs for ourselves."
"But where?" asked Wilbur.
"Wherever the wind takes us. High, low. Near, far. East, west. North, south. We take to the breeze, we go as we please."
"Are all of you going?" asked Wilbur. "You can’t all go. I would be left alone, with no friends. Your mother wouldn’t want that to happen, I’m sure."
The air was now so full of balloonists that the barn cellar looked almost as though a mist had gathered. Balloons by the dozen were rising, circling, and drifting away through the door, sailing off on the gentle wind. Cries of "Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye!" came weakly to Wilbur’s ears. He couldn’t bear to watch any more. In sorrow he sank to the ground and closed his eyes. This seemed like the end of the world, to be deserted by Charlotte’s children. Wilbur cried himself to sleep.
When he woke it was late afternoon. He looked at the egg sac. It was empty. He looked into the air. The balloonists were gone. Then he walked drearily to the doorway, where Charlotte’s web used to be. He was standing there, thinking of her, when he heard a small voice.
"Salutations!" it said. "I’m up here."
"So am I," said another tiny voice.
"So am I," said a third voice. "Three of us are staying. We like this place, and we like you."
Wilbur looked up. At the top of the doorway three small webs were being constructed. On each web, working busily was one of Charlotte’s daughters.
"Can I take this to mean," asked Wilbur, "that you have definitely decided to live here in the barn cellar, and that I am going to have three friends?"
"You can indeed," said the spiders.
"What are your names, please?" asked Wilbur, trembling with joy.
"I’ll tell you my name," replied the first little spider, "if you’ll tell me why you are trembling."
"I’m trembling with joy," said Wilbur.
"Then my name is Joy," said the first spider.
"What was my mother’s middle initial?" asked the second spider.
"A," said Wilbur.
"Then my name is Aranea," said the spider.
"How about me?" asked the third spider. "Will you just pick out a nice sensible name for me - something not too long, not too fancy, and not too dumb?"
Wilbur thought hard.
"Nellie?" he suggested.
"Fine, I like that very much," said the third spider. "You may call me Nellie." She daintily fastened her orb line to the next spoke of the web.
Wilbur’s’ heart brimmed with happiness. He felt that he should make a short speech on this very important occasion.
"Joy! Aranea! Nellie!" he began. "Welcome to the barn cellar. You have, chosen a hallowed doorway from which to string your webs. I think it is only fair to tell you that I was devoted to your mother. I owe my very life to her. She was brilliant, beautiful, and loyal to the end. I shall always treasure her memory. To you, her daughters, I pledge my friendship, forever and ever."
"I pledge mine," said Joy.
"I do, too," said Aranea.
"And so do I, said Nellie, who had just managed to catch a small gnat.
It was a happy day for Wilbur. And many more happy, tranquil days followed.
As time went on, and the months and years came, and went, he was never without friends. Fern did not come regularly to the barn any more. She was growing up, and was careful to avoid childish things, like sitting on a milk stool near a pigpen. But Charlotte’s children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, year after year, lived in the doorway. Each spring there were new little spiders hatching out to take the place of the old. Most of them sailed away, on their balloons. But always two or three stayed and set up housekeeping in the doorway.
Mr. Zuckerman took fine care of Wilbur all the rest of his days, and the pig was often i ted by friends and admirers, for nobody ever forgot the year of his triumph and the miracle of the web. Life in the barn was very good - night and day, winter and summer, spring and fall, dull days and bright days. It was the best place to be, thought Wilbur, this warm delicious cellar, with the garrulous geese, the changing seasons, the heat of the sun, the passage of swallows, the nearness of rats, the sameness of sheep, the love of spiders, the smell of manure, and the glory of everything.
Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.
THE END