Then he picked up the pail. Wilbur stood in the trough, drooling with hunger.
Lurvy poured. The slops ran creamily down around the pig's eyes and ears. Wilbur grunted.
He gulped and sucked, and sucked and gulped, making swishing and swooshing noises, anxious to get everything at once.
It was a delicious meal: skim milk, wheat middlings, leftover pancakes, half a doughnut, the rind of a summer squash,
two pieces of stale toast, a third of a gingersnap, a fish tail, one orange peel, several noodles from a noodle soup,
the scum off a cup of cocoa, an ancient jelly roll, a strip of paper from the lining of the garbage pail,
and a spoonful of raspberry jello. Wilbur ate heartily. He planned to leave half a noodle and a few drops of milk for Templeton.
Then he remembered that the rat had been useful in saving Charlotte's life, and that Charlotte was trying to save his life.
So he left a whole noodle, instead of a half. Now that the broken egg was buried, the air cleared and the barn smelled good again.
The afternoon passed, and evening came. Shadows lengthened. The cool and kindly breath of evening entered through doors and windows.
Astride her web, Charlotte sat moodily eating a horsefly and thinking about the future.
After a while she bestirred herself. She descended to the center of the web and there she began to cut some of her lines.
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