Charlotte's Web

This old world is filled with wonders,

but to me there's no place more wonderful

than a farm in springtime,

when the sun is just lifting on the skyline.

The air is so sweet,

and everywhere you look,

little miracles are happening.

Buds swell into blossoms,

eggs hatch,

young are born.

Everything's off to a fresh start,

and life is good and busy and brand-new.

Around a barnyard,

big families are a blessing.

The more, the merrier.

Root and grunt,

push and shove,

room for everybody.

Well,

everybody except the runt.

John Arabel had been up since daybreak.

He'd seen size of the pig,

and he wasn't looking forward

to what had to be done.

Good morning, papa.

Morning, Fern.

Here are the eggs, mama.

Thank you, Fern.

What's papa doing with that ax?

Some pigs were born last night.

Why does he need an ax?

One pig was a runt.

Your father has to do away with it.

Do away with it? You mean kill it?

Well, yes.

Because it's smaller than the others?

The pig would probably die anyway.

Papa!

Papa!

Papa!

Papa! Stop! Don't!

Don't kill it! It's unfair!

Fern, you will have to learn to control yourself.

Control myself?

This is a matter of life and death,

and you say control yourself.

I know more about raising pigs than you.

A weakling makes trouble.

Now run along.

But it's unfair.

If I had been very small,

would you have killed me?

Oh, certainly not.

A little girl is one thing.

A runty pig is another.

I don't see any difference.

This is the most terrible case of injustice

I ever heard of.

I've got a mind to let you raise this pig.

Then you'd see what trouble a pig can be.

Oh, papa.

Would you? Please?

All right. He's yours.

Saved from an untimely death.

Oh. Look at him.

He's absolutely perfect.

His name is...

Wilbur.

A pig doesn't grow fat on kisses and hugs.

Now take him inside and feed him.

John Arabel, you've gone soft.

Isn't he precious?

Can I have one, too?

I only distribute pigs to early risers.

Fern was up at daylight, fighting injustice.

Seems you've already got more wildlife

than you can take care of, Avery.

¶ There must be Something more to us ¶

¶ Than you and me ¶

¶ It must be Tangled up somehow ¶

¶ With destiny ¶

¶ I used to think The sum of 1 and 1 ¶

¶ Was 2 ¶

¶ But we add up to more, Me and you ¶

¶ When we are Close together ¶

¶ It's so plain to see ¶

¶ Together we are better Than we used to be ¶

¶ I don't know how to say The things I'm thinking of ¶

¶ But the something more I'm feeling ¶

¶ Must be love ¶

¶ I used to think The sum of 1 and 1 was 2 ¶

¶ But we add up to more, Me and you ¶

¶ I don't know how to say The things I'm thinking of ¶

¶ But the something more I'm feeling ¶

¶ Must be love ¶

[VIOLIN PLAYING OFF-KEY]

But to a boy named Henry Fussy,

fun was something he'd only heard about.

Henry.

Where did you get the pig?

Papa gave him to me

because he was the r-u-n-t.

Let me hold him.

You know, Henry,

you ought to have a dog or something.

Well, mother says pets are unsanitary.

Wilbur's not. He's clean as a whistle.

Henry Fussy, you put that thing down!

Shoo! Shoo!

Get out!

Shoo! Shoo!

All right, Wilbur. Make a wish.

This pig now sits at the table like family?

It's Wilbur's birthday, papa.

He's 2 weeks old.

It's time for him

to start behaving like a pig.

Tonight he starts sleeping outside.

But--But, papa--

Don't but papa me.

Take that pig outside where it belongs.

It's my old comfy blanket, when I was little.

You'll be nice and warm.

Go on in. Try it.

Good night, Wilbur.

I'll see you in the morning.

You'll be just fine.

Go to sleep now.

Oh, Wilbur.

¶ There must be Something more to us ¶

¶ Than you and me ¶

John, wake up!

Robbers!

H-Huh?

Help, papa!

There's a ghost in my bed!

Wilbur was what farmers call a spring pig,

meaning he was born in springtime.

When he was 6 weeks old,

he'd grown so,

you'd never have known he started life as a runt.

Wilbur had gotten so big, in fact,

that John Arabel decided

it was time he stopped being a pet

and started being a pig.

He's got to go, Fern.

Papa, no!

You've had your fun raising a baby pig,

but Wilbur's got to be sold.

He's not a baby anymore,

and his brothers and sisters

are already sold.

Oh, papa.

What's the matter with Fern?

Fern's learning the hard facts of farm life.

Oh, Wilbur.

The next day was the saddest one

Fern and Wilbur had ever known.

The young pig was taken from his home

under the apple tree and sold down the road

to Fern's uncle Homer Zuckerman.

Good-bye, Wilbur.

Good-bye, Wilbur!

Good-bye.

Sorry, sonny, sorry.

I'm sitting, sitting on my eggs,

but if you'd like to come here and talk,

you're welcome, welcome, welcome.

Can't you talk, talk, talk?

You probably--obably could if you tried.

Try, try, try.

W-W-W-W...

W-W-W-W...

Oh, you can do better, better,

better than that.

W-W-W-Wilbur!

Very good.

Very good!

W-w-Wilbur!

Wilbur!

There, there, there.

You speak very well.

I can talk.

I can talk!

¶ I can actually, Factually talk ¶

¶ Isn't it great ¶

¶ That I articulate? ¶

¶ Isn't it grand ¶

¶ That you can Understand? ¶