The text below is from the [ original novel ].
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Chapter 17 - UNCLE
While Wilbur was being unloaded and taken out of his crate and into his new pigpen, crowds gathered to watch. They stared at the sign ZUCKERMAN'S FAMOUS PIG. Wilbur stared back and tried to look extra good. He was pleased with his new home. The pen was grassy, and it was shaded from the sun by a shed roof.
Charlotte, watching her chance, scrambled out of the crate and climbed a post to the under side of the roof. Nobody noticed her.
Templeton, not wishing to come out in broad daylight, stayed quietly under the straw at the bottom of the crate. Mr. Zuckerman poured some skim milk into Wilbur's trough, pitched clean straw into his pen, and then he and Mrs. Zuckerman and the Arables; walked away toward the cattle barn to look at purebred cows and to see the sights. Mr. Zuckerman particularly wanted to look at tractors. Mrs. Zuckerman wanted to see a deep freeze. Lurvy wandered off by himself, hoping to meet friends and have some fun on the midway.
As soon as the people were gone, Charlotte spoke to Wilbur. "It's a good thing you can't see what I see," she said.
"What do you see?" asked Wilbur.
"There's a pig in the next pen and he's enormous. I'm afraid he's much bigger than you are."
"Maybe he's older than I am, and has had more time to grow," suggested Wilbur. Tears began to come to his eyes.
"I'll drop down and have a closer look," Charlotte said. Then she crawled along a beam till she was directly over the next pen. She let herself down on a dragline until she hung in the air just in front of the big pig's snout.
"May I have your name?" she asked, politely.
The pig stared at her. "No name," he said in a big, hearty voice. "Just call me Uncle."
"Very well, Uncle," replied Charlotte. "What is the date of your birth? Are you a spring pig?"
"Sure I'm a spring pig," replied Uncle. "What did you think I was, a spring chicken? Haw, haw - that's a good one, eh, Sister."
"Mildly funny," said Charlotte. "I've heard funnier ones, though. Glad to have met you, and now I must be going."
She ascended slowly and returned to Wilbur's pen. "He claims he's a spring pig," reported Charlotte, "and perhaps he is. One thing is certain, he has a most unattractive personality. He is too familiar, too noisy, and he cracks weak jokes. Also, he's not anywhere near as clean as you are, nor as pleasant. I took quite a dislike to him in our brief interview. He's going to be a hard pig to beat, though, Wilbur, on account of his size and weight. But with me helping you, it can be done."
"When are you going to spin a web?" asked Wilbur.
"This afternoon, late, if I'm not too tired," said Charlotte. "The least thing tires me these days. I don't seem to have the energy I once had. My age, I guess."
Wilbur looked at his friend. She looked rather swollen and she seemed listless.
"I'm awfully sorry to hear that you're feeling poorly, Charlotte," he said. "Perhaps if you spin a web and catch a couple of flies you'll feel better."
"Perhaps," she said, wearily. "But I feel like the end of a long day." Clinging upside down to the ceiling, she settled down for a nap, leaving Wilbur very much worried.
All morning people wandered past Wilbur's pen. Dozens and dozens of strangers stopped to stare at him and to admire his silky white coat, his curly tail, his kind and radiant expression. Then they would move on to the next pen where the bigger pig lay. Wilbur heard several people make favorable remarks about Uncle's great size. He couldn't help overhearing these remarks, and he couldn't help worrying. "And now, with Charlotte not feeling well ..." he thought. "Oh, dear!"
All morning Templeton slept quietly under the straw. The day grew fiercely hot.
CHAPTER 18 - The Cool of the Evening
In the cool of the evening, when shadows darkened the Fair Grounds, Templeton crept from the crate and looked around. Wilbur lay asleep in the straw. Charlotte was building a web. Templeton's keen nose detected many fine smells in the air. The rat was hungry and thirsty. He decided to go exploring. Without saying anything to anybody, he started off.
"Bring me back a word!" Charlotte called after him. "I shall be writing tonight for the last time."
The rat mumbled something to himself and disappeared into the shadows. He did not like being treated like a messenger boy.
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