The goose knew a day in advance that they were coming—she could hear their weak voices calling from inside the egg.
She knew that they were in a desperately cramped position inside the shell and were most anxious to break through and get out.
So she sat quite still, and talked less than usual.
When the first gosling poked its grey-green head through the goose’s feathers and looked around,
Charlotte spied it and made the announcement.
“I am sure,” she said, “that every one of us here will be gratified to learn that after four weeks of unremitting effort and patience”
“on the part of our friend the goose, she now has something to show for it. The goslings have arrived. May I offer my sincere congratulations!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” said the goose, nodding and bowing shamelessly. “Thank you,” said the gander.
“Congratulations!” shouted Wilbur. “How many goslings are there? I can only see one.”
“There are seven,” said the goose. “Fine!” said Charlotte. “Seven is a lucky number.”
“Luck had nothing to do with this,” said the goose. “It was good management and hard work.”
At this point, Templeton showed his nose from his hiding place under Wilbur’s trough.
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