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But
Wilbur
was
already
asleep
.
When
the
song
ended
,
Fern
got
up
and
went
home
.
The
next
day
was
Saturday
.
Fern
stood
at
the
kitchen
sink
drying
the
breakfast
dishes
as
her
mother
washed
them
.
Mrs
.
Arable
worked
silently
.
She
hoped
Fern
would
go
out
and
play
with
other
children
,
instead
of
heading
for
the
Zuckermans
’
barn
to
sit
and
watch
animals
.
"
Charlotte
is
the
best
storyteller
I
ever
heard
,
"
said
Fern
,
poking
her
dish
towel
into
a
cereal
bowl
.
"
Fern
,
"
said
her
mother
sternly
,
"
you
must
not
invent
things
.
You
know
spiders
don
’
t
tell
stories
.
Spiders
can
’
t
talk
.
"
"
Charlotte
can
,
"
replied
Fern
.
"
She
doesn
’
t
talk
very
loud
,
but
she
talks
.
"
"
What
kind
of
story
did
she
tell
?
"
asked
Mrs
.
Arable
.
"
Well
,
"
began
Fern
,
"
she
told
us
about
a
cousin
of
hers
who
caught
a
fish
in
her
web
.
Don
’
t
you
think
that
’
s
fascinating
?
"
"
Fern
,
dear
,
how
would
a
fish
get
in
a
spider
’
s
web
?
"
said
Mrs
.
Arable
.
"
You
know
it
couldn
’
t
happen
.
You
’
re
making
this
up
.
"
"
Oh
,
it
happened
all
right
,
"
replied
Fern
.
"
Charlotte
never
fibs
.
This
cousin
of
hers
built
a
web
across
a
stream
.
One
day
she
was
hanging
around
on
the
web
and
a
tiny
fish
leaped
into
the
air
and
got
tangled
in
the
web
.
The
fish
was
caught
by
one
fin
,
Mother
;
its
tail
was
wildly
thrashing
and
shining
in
the
sun
.
Can
’
t
you
just
see
the
web
,
sagging
dangerously
under
the
weight
of
the
fish
?
Charlotte
’
s
cousin
kept
slipping
in
,
dodging
out
,
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
!
"
