介绍:
The next day was rainy and dark. Rain fell on the roof of the barn and dripped steadily from the eaves. Rain fell in the barnyard and ran in crooked courses down into the lane where thistles and pig weed grew. Rain spattered against Mrs. Zuckerman's kitchen windows and came gushing out of the downspouts. Rain fell on the backs of the sheep as they grazed in the meadow. When the sheep tired of standing in the rain, they walked slowly up the lane and into the fold.
Rain upset Wilbur's plans. Wilbur had planned to go out, this day, and dig a new hole in his yard. He had other plans, too. His plans for the day went something like this:
Breakfast at six-thirty. Skim milk, crusts, middlings, bits of doughnuts, wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup sticking to them, potato skins, leftover custard pudding with raisins, and bits of Shredded Wheat.
Breakfast would be finished at seven.
From seven to eight, Wilbur planned to have a talk with Templeton, the rat that lived under his trough. Talking with Templeton was not the most interesting occupation in the world but it was better than nothing.
From eight to nine, Wilbur planned to take a nap outdoors in the sun.
From nine to eleven he planned to dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find something good to eat buried in the dirt.
From eleven to twelve he planned to stand still and watch flies on the boards, watch bees in the clover, and watch swallows in the air.
Twelve o'clock-lunchtime. Middlings, warm water, apple parings, meat gravy, carrot scrapings, meat scraps, stale hominy, and the wrapper off a package of cheese. Lunch would be over at one.
From one to two, Wilbur planned to sleep.
From two to three, he planned to scratch itchy places by rubbing against the fence.
From three to four, he planned to stand perfectly still and think of what it was like to be alive, and to wait for Fern.
At four would come supper. Skim milk, provender, leftover sandwich from Lurvy's lunchbox, prune skins, a morsel of this, a bit of that, fried potatoes, marmalade drippings, a little more of this, a little more of that, a piece of baked apple, a scrap of upside down cake.
Wilbur had gone to sleep thinking about these plans. He awoke at six and saw the rain, and it seemed as though he couldn't bear it.
"I get every thing all beautifully planned out and it has to go and rain," he said.
For a while he stood gloomily indoors. Then he walked to the door and looked out. Drops of rain struck his face. His yard was cold and wet. his trough had and inch of rainwater in it. Templeton was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you out there, Templeton?" called Wilbur. There was no answer. Suddenly Wilbur felt lonely and friendless.
"One day just like another," he groaned. "I'm very young, I have no real friend here in the barn, it's going to rain all morning and all afternoon, and Fern won't come in such bad weather. Oh, honestly!" And Wilbur was crying again, for the second time in two days.
At six-thirty Wilbur heard the banging of a pail. Lurvy was standing outside in the rain, stirring up breakfast.
"C'mon, pig!" said Lurvy.
Wilbur did not budge. Lurvy dumped the slops, scraped the pail and walked away. He noticed that something was wrong with the pig.
Wilbur didn't want food, he wanted love. He wanted a friend--someone who would play with him. He mentioned this to the goose, who was sitting quietly in a corner of the sheepfold.
"Will you come over and play with me?" he asked.
"Sorry, sonny, sorry," said the goose. "I'm sitting-sitting on my eggs. Eight of them. Got to keep them toasty-oasty-oasty warm. I have to stay right here, I'm no flibberty-ibberty-gibbet. I do not play when there are eggs to hatch. I'm expecting goslings.""Well, I didn't think you were expecting wood-peckers," said Wilbur, bitterly.
Wilbur next tried one of the lambs.
"Will you please play with me?" he asked.
"Certainly not," said the lamb. "In the first place, I cannot get into your pen, as I am not old enough to jump over the fence. In the second place, I am not interested in pigs. Pigs mean less than nothing to me.""What do you mean, less than nothing?" replied Wilbur. "I don't think there is any such thing as less than nothing. Nothing is absolutely the limit of nothingness. It's the lowest you can go. It's the end of the line. How can something be less than nothing? If there were something that was less than nothing, then nothing would not be nothing, it would be something--even though it's just a very little bit of something. But if nothing is nothing, then nothing has nothing that is less than it is.""Oh, be quiet!" said the lamb. "Go play by yourself! I don't play with pigs.
Sadly, Wilbur lay down and listened to the rain. Soon he saw the rat climbing down a slanting board that he used as a stairway.
"Will you play with me, Templeton?" asked Wilbur.
"Play?" said Templeton, twirling his whiskers. "Play? I hardly know the meaning of the word.""Well," said Wilbur, "it means to have fun, to frolic, to run and skip and make merry.""I never do those things if I can avoid them, " replied the rat, sourly. "I prefer to spend my time eating, gnawing, spying, and hiding. I am a glutton but not a merry-maker. Right now I am on my way to your trough to eat your breakfast, since you haven't got sense enough to eat it yourself." And Templeton, the rat, crept stealthily along the wall and disappeared into a private tunnel that he had dug between the door and the trough in Wilbur's yard. Templeton was a crafty rat, and he had things pretty much his own way. The tunnel was an example of his skill and cunning. The tunnel enabled him to get from the barn to his hiding place under the pig trough without coming out into the open. He had tunnels and runways all over Mr. Zuckerman's farm and could get from one place to another without being seen. Usually he slept during the daytime and was abroad only after dark.
Wilbur watched him disappear into his tunnel. In a moment he saw the rat's sharp nose poke out from underneath the wooden trough. Cautiously Templeton pulled himself up over the edge of the trough. This was almost more than Wilbur could stand: on this dreary, rainy day to see his breakfast being eaten by somebody else. He knew Templeton was getting soaked, out there in the pouring rain, but even that didn't comfort him. Friendless, dejected, and hungry, he threw himself down in the manure and sobbed.
第二天是个阴沉的雨天。雨珠儿落到谷仓上面，又一滴滴地从屋檐上滑了下来。雨珠儿落到谷仓旁边的地上，一路溅跳到长满刺儿菜和灰菜的小路里面。雨珠儿轻轻拍打着祖克曼太太厨房的窗子，顺着玻璃汩汩地往下淌。雨珠儿也落到正在草地吃草的绵羊们的背上。当绵羊们在雨中吃腻了，便慢吞吞地沿着小路回到了羊圈里。
他今天的所有计划大致如下：
六点半吃早饭。早饭包括脱脂奶，面包渣儿，粗麦粉，一小块油煎圈饼，上面沾着枫蜜的麦糕，土豆皮，缀着葡萄干的小块布丁，零碎的麦片。
早餐将在七点结束。
从七点到八点，威伯打算和住在他的食槽下面的耗子坦普尔曼谈天儿。虽然和坦普尔曼谈天不是这世上最有趣的事情，但至少比什么都不做要好。
八点到九点，威伯想在外面的太阳下打一个盹儿。
九点到十一点，他打算挖一个洞，或者一条小沟也行，没准儿还能从脏土里翻出什么好吃的呢。
十一点到十二点，他只想默默地站着，瞧瞧落在木板上的苍蝇，瞅瞅在苜蓿花间的蜜蜂，望望天空里的燕子。
十二点钟——该吃午餐了。午饭有粗麦粉，温水，苹果皮，肉汁，尖尖的胡萝卜，肉末儿，陈玉米粒儿，去皮的干酪。用餐将在下午一点结束。
从一点到两点，威伯打算睡觉。
两点到三点，他准备在栅栏上蹭痒。
三点到四点，他打算静默而又完美地站在地上，想想生活的乐趣到底是什么，并且等芬来看他。
四点钟吃晚饭。晚饭有脱脂奶，剩饭，鲁维的午餐盒里剩下的三明治，干梅皮，一小片这个，一小块那个，还有炸薯片，稀稀的果酱，一点儿苹果干，一块蛋糕等等这些那些东西。
他忧郁地在屋里站了一会儿。然后他走到门口往外看。雨滴撞到了他的脸。他的院子里又冷又湿。他的食槽里足有一英寸厚的雨水。不知道坦普尔曼躲到哪儿去了。
“今天就像昨天一样没劲，”他叹息。“我很年轻，我在谷仓里没有真正的朋友，雨会下一早晨，甚至整个下午，这样的坏天气，芬可能也不会出来。唉，她准不会来！”威伯又难过得哭起来，这两天里，他已经哭了两次了。
威伯动都懒得动。鲁维把饲料倒进食槽，又刮了刮桶壁，才走开了。他注意到小猪好像有毛病了。
“你愿意来和我一起玩儿吗？”他问。
“抱歉，宝贝儿，抱歉，”母鹅说。”我正在孵我的蛋呢。他们共有八个，得时刻让他们
又干-干-干又暖。因此我只好呆在这儿，不能走-走-走开。我孵蛋时不能玩儿。我盼着能早点孵出小鹅来。”
“当然，我想你一定不愿孵出一群啄木鸟来，”威伯酸溜溜地说。
“当然不能了，”一只羊羔说。“首先，我无法进到你的院子里，因为我还太小，跳不过这篱笆。其次，我对猪一点儿也不感兴趣。照我看，猪比啥都不是还不是。”
“什么叫比啥都不是还不是？”威伯回答。“我不认为有什么东西会比啥都不是还不是。'啥都不是'已经不是到了顶了，那绝对是天地的顶端，世界的尽头了。怎么可能还会有比啥
都不是还不是的东西呢？要是你说得对，那'啥都不是'就该是点啥，哪怕只是那么一丁点儿。但是如果'啥都不是'就是'啥都不是'，那么你就找不到会比啥都不是还不是的东西。”“哎呀，吵死了！”羊羔说。“自己上一边儿玩去！我就是不和猪一起玩儿。”
威伯悲伤地躺下来，去听雨的声音。不久，他看见耗子正在顺着一块他自称为楼梯的，斜放在那里的木板往下爬。
“你愿意和我玩儿吗，坦普尔曼？”威伯恳求。
“玩儿？”坦普尔曼说着，捻了捻他的胡子。“玩儿？我都不懂这词儿是什么意思。”
“哦，”威伯说，“玩就是做游戏，嬉耍，跑跳，找乐子。”
“我从不愿意在这些事儿上浪费时间。”耗子冷冷的回答。“我宁愿把我的时间用在吃，咬，偷，藏上面。我是一个贪吃的老鼠，不是游戏主义者。我要去吃你食槽里的早餐了，反正现在你也不想去吃。”老鼠坦普尔曼说完，便沿着墙缝爬进他开凿的那条贯穿门和食槽的秘密通道里去了。坦普尔曼是只非常狡猾的耗子，也很有些高明的手段。这条通道不过是他的狡猾与挖洞技巧的一个证明而已。这条通道能令他不用在谷仓的明处露面，就能在谷仓和自己在猪食槽下的藏身处来回。他在祖克曼先生的农场里挖了很多条地道，这样就可以不被发现的任意来去了。通常他都在白天睡觉，夜深才出来活动。
威伯看着他爬进了通道。瞬间来历，他就看见耗子的尖鼻头从木头食槽下面探出来。坦普尔曼小心地顺着食槽边爬了进去。威伯几乎再也不能忍受了：谁愿意在一个忧伤的下雨天，看到自己的早餐被别人吃掉呢？他知道外面的雨水正浇着在那里大嚼的坦普尔曼，可这也不会使他感到有所安慰。无助，失意，饥饿,他趴在牛粪堆里啜泣起来。
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