“Listen to me,” whispered the old sheep to Wilbur. “When they open the crate and try to put you in, struggle!
Don't go without a tussle. Pigs always resist when they are being loaded.”
“If I struggle I'll get dirty,” said Wilbur.
“Never mind that—do as I say! Struggle! If you were to walk into the crate without resisting, Zuckerman might think you were bewitched.
He'd be scared to go to the Fair.” Templeton poked his head up through the straw.
“Struggle if you must,” said he, “but kindly remember that I'm hiding down here in this crate
and I don't want to be stepped on, or kicked in the face, or pummeled, or crushed in any way,
or squashed, or buffeted about, or bruised, or lacerated, or biffed. Just watch what you're doing, Mr. Radiant, when they get shoving you in!”
“Be quiet, Templeton!” said the sheep. “Pull in your head—they're coming. Look radiant, Wilbur! Lay low, Charlotte! Talk it up, geese!”
The truck backed slowly to the pigpen and stopped. Mr. Arable cut the motor, got out, walked around to the rear, and lowered the tailgate.
The geese cheered. Mrs. Arable got out of the truck. Fern and Avery jumped to the ground.
Mrs. Zuckerman came walking down from the house. Everybody lined up at the fence and stood for a moment admiring Wilbur and the beautiful green crate.
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