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"
Fern
,
"
he
said
gently
,
"
you
will
have
to
learn
to
control
yourself
.
"
"
Control
myself
?
"
yelled
Fern
.
"
This
is
a
matter
of
life
and
death
,
and
you
talk
about
controlling
myself
.
"
Tears
ran
down
her
cheeks
and
she
took
hold
of
the
ax
and
tried
to
pull
it
out
of
her
father
’
s
hand
.
"
Fern
,
"
said
Mr
.
Arable
,
"
I
know
more
about
raising
a
litter
of
pigs
than
you
do
.
A
weakling
makes
trouble
.
Now
run
along
!
"
"
But
it
’
s
unfair
,
"
cried
Fern
.
"
The
pig
couldn
’
t
help
being
born
small
,
could
it
?
If
I
had
been
very
small
at
birth
,
would
you
have
killed
me
?
"
Mr
.
Arable
smiled
.
"
Certainly
not
,
"
he
said
,
looking
down
at
his
daughter
with
love
.
"
But
this
is
different
.
A
little
girl
is
one
thing
,
a
little
runty
pig
is
another
.
"
"
I
see
no
difference
,
"
replied
Fern
,
still
hanging
on
to
the
ax
.
"
This
is
the
most
terrible
case
of
injustice
I
ever
heard
of
.
"
A
queer
look
came
over
John
Arable
’
s
face
.
He
seemed
almost
ready
to
cry
himself
.
"
All
right
,
"
he
said
.
"
You
go
back
to
the
house
and
I
will
bring
the
runt
when
I
come
in
.
I
’
ll
let
you
start
it
on
a
bottle
,
like
a
baby
.
Then
you
’
ll
see
what
trouble
a
pig
can
be
.
"
When
Mr
.
Arable
returned
to
the
house
half
an
hour
later
,
he
carried
a
carton
under
his
arm
.
Fern
was
upstairs
changing
her
sneakers
.
The
kitchen
table
was
set
for
breakfast
,
and
the
room
smelled
of
coffee
,
bacon
,
damp
plaster
,
and
wood
smoke
from
the
stove
.
