Mrs. Arable fidgeted. “Fern says the animals talk to each other. Dr. Dorian, do you believe animals talk?”
“I never heard one say anything,” he replied. “But that proves nothing.
It is quite possible that an animal has spoken civilly to me and that I didn't catch the remark because I wasn't paying attention.
Children pay better attention than grownups. If Fern says that the animals in Zuckerman's barn talk, I'm quite ready to believe her.
Perhaps if people talked less, animals would talk more. People are incessant talkers—I can give you my word on that.
“Well, I feel better about Fern,” said Mrs. Arable. “You don't think I need worry about her?”
“Does she look well?” asked the doctor. “Oh, yes.” “Appetite good?” “Oh, yes, she's always hungry.”
“Sleep well at night?” “Oh, yes.” “Then don't worry,” said the doctor.
“Do you think she'll ever start thinking about something besides pigs and sheep and geese and spiders?”
“How old is Fern?” “She's eight.” “Well,” said Dr. Dorian, “I think she will always love animals.
But I doubt that she spends her entire life in Homer Zuckerman's barn cellar. How about boys—does she know any boys?”
“She knows Henry Fussy,” said Mrs. Arable brightly. Dr. Dorian closed his eyes again and went into deep thought.
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