Nobody realized that the crate already contained a rat and a spider.
“That's some pig!” said Mrs. Arable. “He's terrific,” said Lurvy. “He's very radiant,” said Fern, remembering the day he was born.
“Well,” said Mrs. Zuckerman, “he's clean, anyway. The buttermilk certainly helped.”
Mr. Arable studied Wilbur carefully. “Yes, he's a wonderful pig,” he said.
It's hard to believe that he was the runt of the litter. You'll get some extra good ham and bacon, Homer, when it comes time to kill that pig.
Wilbur heard these words and his heart almost stopped. “I think I'm going to faint,” he whispered to the old sheep, who was watching.
“Kneel down!” whispered the old sheep. “Let the blood rush to your head!” Wilbur sank to his knees, all radiance gone. His eyes closed.
“Look!” screamed Fern. “He's fading away!” “Hey, watch me!” yelled Avery, crawling on all fours into the crate. “I'm a pig! I'm a pig!”
Avery's foot touched Templeton under the straw. “What a mess!” thought the rat. “What fantastic creatures boys are! Why did I let myself in for this?”
The geese saw Avery in the crate and cheered. “Avery, you get out of that crate this instant!” commanded his mother. “What do you think you are?”
“I'm a pig!” cried Avery, tossing handfuls of straw into the air. “Oink, oink, oink!” “The truck is rolling away, Papa,” said Fern.
The truck, with no one at the wheel, had started to roll downhill. Mr. Arable dashed to the driver's seat and pulled on the emergency brake.
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