and she was beaten mercilessly over the head by the wildly thrashing fish, dancing in, dancing out, throwing...”
“Fern!” snapped her mother. “Stop it! Stop inventing these wild tales!”
“I'm not inventing,” said Fern. “I'm just telling you the facts.”
“What finally happened?” asked her mother, whose curiosity began to get the better of her.
“Charlotte's cousin won. She wrapped the fish up, then she ate him when she got good and ready. Spiders have to eat, the same as the rest of us.”
“Yes, I suppose they do,” said Mrs. Arable, vaguely. “Charlotte has another cousin who is a balloonist.
She stands on her head, lets out a lot of line, and is carried aloft on the wind. Mother, wouldn't you simply love to do that?”
“Yes, I would, come to think of it,” replied Mrs. Arable.
“But Fern, darling, I wish you would play outdoors today instead of going to Uncle Homer's barn.
Find some of your playmates and do something nice outdoors. You're spending too much time in that barn—it isn't good for you to be alone so much.”
“Alone?” said Fern. “Alone? My best friends are in the barn cellar. It is a very sociable place. Not at all lonely.”
Fern disappeared after a while, walking down the road toward Zuckermans'. Her mother dusted the sitting room.
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