“Play? I hardly know the meaning of the word.” “Well,” said Wilbur, “it means to have fun, to frolic, to run and skip and make merry.”
“I never do those things if I can avoid them,” replied the rat, sourly.
I prefer to spend my time eating, gnawing, spying, and hiding. I am a glutton but not a merrymaker.
Right now I am on my way to your trough to eat your breakfast, since you haven’t got sense enough to eat it yourself.”
And Templeton, the rat, crept stealthily along the wall and disappeared into a private tunnel
that he had dug between the door and the trough in Wilbur’s yard. Templeton was a crafty rat, and he had things pretty much his own way.
The tunnel was an example of his skill and cunning. The tunnel enabled him to get from the barn to his hiding place
under the pig trough without coming out into the open. He had tunnels and runways all over Mr. Zuckerman’s farm
and could get from one place to another without being seen. Usually he slept during the daytime and was abroad only after dark.
Wilbur watched him disappear into his tunnel. In a moment he saw the rat’s sharp nose poke out from underneath the wooden trough.
Cautiously Templeton pulled himself up over the edge of the trough. This was almost more than Wilbur could stand:
on this dreary, rainy day to see his breakfast being eaten by somebody else. He knew Templeton was getting soaked,
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