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Wilbur burst into tears. "I don't want to die," he moaned. "I want to stay alive, right here in my comfortable manure pile with all my friends. I want to breathe the beautiful air and lie in the beautiful sun."
"You're certainly making a beautiful noise," snapped the old sheep.
"I don't want to die!" screamed Wilbur, throwing himself to the ground.
"You shall not die," said Charlotte, briskly.
"What? Really?" cried Wilbur. "Who's going to save me?"
"I am," said Charlotte.
"How?" asked Wilbur.
"That remains to be seen. But I am going to save you, and I want you to quiet down immediately. You're carrying on in a childish way. Stop your crying! I can't stand hysterics."
VIII. A Talk at Home
On Sunday morning Mr. and Mrs. Arable and Fern were sitting at breakfast in the kitchen. Avery had finished and was upstairs looking for his slingshot.
"Did you know that Uncle Homer's goslings had hatched?" asked Fern.
"How many?" asked Mr. Arable.
"Seven," replied Fern. "There were eight eggs but one egg didn't hatch and the goose told Templeton she didn't want it any more, so he took it away."
"The goose did what?" asked Mrs. Arable, gazing at her daughter with a queer, worried look.
"Told Templeton she didn't want the egg any more," repeated Fern.
"Who is Templeton?" asked Mrs. Arable.
"He's the rat," replied Fern. "None of us like him much."
"Who is 'us'?" asked Mr. Arable.
"Oh, everybody in the barn cellar. Wilbur and the sheep and the lambs and the goose and the gander and the goslings and Charlotte and me."
"Charlotte?" said Mrs. Arable. "Who's Charlotte
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