The barn was very large. It was very old. It smelled of hay and it smelled of manure¹. It smelled of the perspiration² of tired horses and the wonderful sweet breath of patient cows. It often had a sort of peaceful smell -- as though noghing bad could happen ever again in the world. It smelled of grain and of harness dressing³ and of axle grease and of rubber boots and of new rope. And whenever the cat was given a fish-head to eat, the barn would smell of fish. But mostly it smelled of hay, for there was always hay in the great loft⁴ up overhead. And there was always hay being pitched down to the cows and the hourses and the sheep.

 

The barn was pleasantly warm in winter when the animals spent most of their time indoors, and it was pleasantly cool in summer when the big doors stood wide open to the breeze. The barn had stalls on the main floor for the work hourses, tie-ups on the main floor for the cows, a sheepfold down below for the sheep, a pigpen down below for Wilbur, and it was full of all sorts of things that you find in barns: ladders, grindsones, pitch forks, monkey wrenches⁶, scythes⁷, lawn mowers, snow shovels⁸, ax handles, milk pails, water buchers, empty grain sacks, and rusty⁹ rat traps. It was the kind of barn that swallows like to build their nests in. It was the kind of barn that children like to play in. And the whole thing was owned by Fern's uncle, Mr. Homer L. Zuckerman.

 

Wilbur's new home was in the lower part of the barn, directly underneath¹⁰ the cows. Mr. Zuckerman knew that a manure pile is a good place to keep a young pig. Pigs need warmth, and it was warm and comfortable down there in the barn cellar on the south side.

 

Fern came almost every day to visit him. She found an old milking stool that had been discarded, and she placed the stool in the sheepfold next to Wilbur's pen. Here she sat quietly during the long afternoons, thinking and listening and watching Wilbur. The sheep soon got to know her and trust her. So did the geese, who lived with the sheep. All the animals trusted her, she was so quiet and friendly. Mr. Zuckerman did not allow her to take Wilbur out, and he did not allow to get into the pigpen. But he told Fern that she could sit on the stool and watch Wilbur as long as she wanted to. It made her happy just to be near the pig, and it made her happy just to be near the pig, and it made Wilbur happy to know that she was sitting there, right outside his pen. But he never had any fun--no walks, no redes, no swims.

 

One afternoon in June, when Wilbur was almost two months old, he wandered out into his small yard outside the barn. Fern had not arrived for her usual visit. Wilbur stood in the sun feeling lonely and bored.

 

"There's never anything to do around here," he thought. He walked slowly to his food trough and sniffed¹¹ to see if anything had been overlooked at lunch. He found a small strip of potato skin and ate it. His back itched⁵, so he leaned against the fence and rubbed against the boards. When he tired of this, he walked indoors, climbed to the top of the manured pile, and sat down. He didn't feel like going to sleep, he didn't feel like digging, he was tired of standing¹² still, tired of lying down. "I'm less than two months old and I'm tired of living," he said. He walked out to the yard again.

 

"When I'm out here," he said, "there's no place to go but in. When I'm indoors, there's no place to go but out in the yard."

 

"That's where you're wrong, my friend, my freiend," said a voice. 

 

Wilbur looked through the fence and saw the goose standing there.

 

"You don't have to stay in that dirty-llittle dirty-little dirty-little yard," said the goose, who talded rather fast. "One of the boards is loose. Push on it, push-push-push on it, and come on out!"

 

"What?" said Wilbur. "Say it slower!"

 

"At-at-at, at the risk of repeating myself," said the goose, "I suggest that you come on out. It's wonderful out here."

 

"Did you say a board was loose?" 

 

"That I did, that I did," said the goose.

 

Wilbur walked up to the fence and saw that the goose was right--one board was loose. He put his head sown, shut his eyes, and pushed. The board gave way. In a minute he had squeezed through the fence and was standing in the long grass outside his yard. The goose chuckled¹³.

 

"How does it feel to be free?" she asked.

 

"I like it ," said Wilbur. "That is, I guess I like it." #p#分页标题#e#

 

Actually, Wilbur felt queer to be outside his fence, with nothing between him and the big world.

 

"Where do you think I'd better go?"

 

"Anywhere you like, anywhere you like," said the goose. "Go down through the orchard¹⁴, root up the sod! Go down through the garden, dig up the radishes! Root up everything! Eat grass! Look for corn! Look for oats! Run all over! Skip and dance, jump and prance¹⁵! Go down through the orchard and stroll in the woods! The world is a wonderful place when you're young."

 

谷仓很大，也很旧。里面全是干草和粪肥的气味。还有种跑累了的马身上的汗味儿与好脾气的母牛喷出的奇妙的香甜味道。空气中常驻的，是一种和平的气息——好像这个世界上再不会有坏事情发生了。这里偶尔还会有谷粒的香味，马具上的草料味，车子上的润滑油味，橡胶靴子味，或是新扎的草绳味儿。如果猫儿叼着人们扔给他的鱼头到这里来享受时，谷仓里就会多了股鱼腥味儿。不过，这里面最浓的味道却是干草味儿，因为谷仓上面的大阁楼里总是堆满了干草。这些干草被不断地扔给下面的母牛、马、绵羊们吃。

 

冬天，当动物们在外面呆久了，回来后会觉得这个谷仓格外的温暖；而夏天呢，当谷仓的门大大敞开着，微风吹进来，这里又变得说不出的凉爽。谷仓上层面有马厩、牛棚，下层的地窖里是羊圈、威伯住的猪圈；里面还堆着你能从谷仓里找到的各类的器具：梯子，磨石，长柄草叉，活手搬子，大号的镰刀，割草机，清雪铲，斧子柄儿，牛奶桶，水桶，空粮食袋子，生锈的捕鼠夹等等。这是燕子们喜欢来筑巢的谷仓。这里的一切都是属于芬的舅舅，霍默·L·祖克曼先生的。

 

威伯的新家在谷仓的下层，正好在牛棚底下。祖克曼先生知道牛粪堆是养小猪的好地方。猪喜欢温暖，而谷仓下朝南的地窖正是温暖而又舒适的地方。

 

芬差不多每天都来看威伯。她找到一张没人要的挤奶凳，于是便把凳子搬到紧挨着威伯的猪圈的羊圈旁。整个漫长的下午，她就这么静静地坐在那里，望着威伯，想着，听着。绵羊不久便认识她，并信任她了。和羊住在一起的母鹅也是。所有的动物都信任她，因为她是那么的文静、和善。祖克曼先生不让她把威伯带出去，也不让她进猪圈。不过，他告诉芬，如果她愿意，她坐在凳子上看威伯多久都行。能靠近威伯她就感到很幸福了；知道芬就坐在他家的外面，威伯也感到无比的快活。只是他却再不能做从前的乐事了——不能再散步，不能再坐婴儿车，也不能再去游泳了。

 

六月的一个下午，差不多两个月大的威伯游荡到他在谷仓外的院子里。那天芬没像往常一样来看他。站在阳光下的威伯，觉得孤单而又无聊。

 

“在这里从没任何事儿可做，”他想。他慢慢地走到食槽前，用鼻子搜寻着，想找找是否有忘了吃的午餐。他发现了一小截土豆皮，就把它吃了下去。他感到背有点儿痒，就斜靠到栅栏上，在木板上使劲的蹭着。当他蹭腻了，便走回他的家门口，爬到牛粪堆顶上，坐了下来。他不想睡，也不想再乱拱了，他厌倦了再这么静静的傻站着，也厌倦了睡觉。“我才活了不到两个月，就对生活厌烦了，”他说。他又往院子里去了。

 

“当我来到这儿，”他说，“除了回家没别的地方可去。当我进了家，除了院子也没别的地方可逛。”

 

“你错了，我的朋友，我的朋友。”一个声音说。

 

威伯往栅栏那边看去，发现一只母鹅就站在那里。

 

“你不用老呆在那个肮脏的-小 肮脏的-小 肮脏的-小院子里，”母鹅说得相当的快。“这儿有一块木板松了。推开它，推-推-推开它，就能够出去！”

 

“什么？”威伯说。“说慢一点儿！”

 

“让-让-让，让我冒险重复一遍，”母鹅说，“我的意思是，建议你跑出去。这外面的世界精彩极了。”

 

“你是说有块木板松了？”

 

“那就是我要说的，那就是。”母鹅说。

 

威伯走到栅栏旁，发现母鹅说得对——真的有一块木板松了。他低下头，闭起眼，用力撞过去。木板松开了。没用一分钟，他就挤过了栅栏，来到院子外的长草丛中了。母鹅嘎嘎大笑起来。

 

“自由的滋味如何？”她问。

 

“我喜欢，”威伯说。“我的意思是说，我想我喜欢这感觉。”

 

实际上，当威伯站在栅栏外，望着这个与自己毫无阻隔的大大的世界的时候，他只有种梦幻般的，说不清的感觉。

 

“你说我去哪儿比较好？”

 

“你喜欢的任何地方，你喜欢的任何地方，”母鹅说。“到果园那里去，把路上的草皮翻出来！到花园去，把萝卜拱出来！拱开一切！吃草！找玉米粒儿！寻找燕麦！把一切都压倒！蹦高和跳舞，后脚立地跳起来！走过果园，去树林里漫步！在你年轻时世界是多么美妙。”

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