Charlotte’s Web 1 “Before Breakfast”

Chapter 1

Before Breakfast

“Where’s Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.
"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."
"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was only eight.
"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."
"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. "Don't yell, Fern!" she said. "Your father is right. The pig would probably die anyway."
Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime. Fern's sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her father.

"Please don't kill it!" she sobbed. "It's unfair." 
Mr. Arable stopped walking.
"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.
"Put it on her chair!" said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable set the carton down at Fern's place. Then he walked to the sink and washed his hands and dried them on the roller towel.
Fern came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red from crying. As she approached her chair, the carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise. Fern looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its ears, turning them pink.
"He's yours," said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an untimely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness."
Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely per­fect."
She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father, then she kissed her mother. Then she opened the lid again, lifted the pig out, and held it against her cheek. At this moment her brother Avery came into the room. 
Avery was ten. He was heavily armed - an air rifle in one hand, a wooden dagger in the other.
"What's that?" he demanded. "What's Fern got?"
“She's got a guest for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable. “Wash your hands and face, Avery!"
"Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down. “You call that miserable thing a pig? That's a fine specimen of a pig - it's no bigger than a white rat." 

"Wash up and eat your breakfast, Avery!" said his mother. "The school bus will be along in half an hour."
"Can I have a pig, too, Pop?" asked Avery.
"No, I only distribute pigs to early risers," said Mr. Arable. "Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let's eat!"
But Fern couldn't eat until her pig had had a drink of milk. Mrs. Arable found a baby's nursing bottle and a rubber nipple. She poured warm milk into the bottle, fitted the nipple over the top, and handed it to Fern. "Give him his breakfast!" she said.
A minute later, Fern was seated on the floor in the corner of the kitchen with her infant between her knees, teaching it to suck from the bottle. The pig, although tiny, had a good appetite and caught on quickly.

The school bus honked from the road.
"Run!" commanded Mrs. Arable, taking the pig from Fern and slipping a doughnut into her hand. Avery grabbed his gun and another doughnut.
The children ran out to the road and climbed into the bus. Fern took no notice of the others in the bus. She just sat and stared out of the window, thinking what a blissful world it was and how lucky she was to have entire charge of a pig. By the time the bus reached school, Fern had named her pet, selecting the most beautiful name she could think of.
"Its name is Wilbur," she whispered to herself.
She was still thinking about the pig when the teacher said: "Fern, what is the capital of Pennsylvania?"
"Wilbur," replied Fern, dreamily. The pupils giggled. Fern blushed.

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Chapter 1
Capítulo 1

Before Breakfast
Antes do café da manhã

“Where’s Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.
“Para onde vai o papai com aquele machado?” perguntou Fern para a mãe enquanto aprontavam a mesa para o café da manhã.

"Out to the hoghouse," replied Mrs. Arable. "Some pigs were born last night."
“Lá no chiqueiro,” respondeu a sra. Arable. Nasceram uns porquinhos ontem à noite.”

"I don't see why he needs an ax," continued Fern, who was only eight.
“Não sei por que ele precisa de um machado,” continuou Fern, que só tinha oito anos.

"Well," said her mother, "one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So your father has decided to do away with it."
“Bom,” respondeu a mãe, “um dos porquinhos é nanico. Pequeninho e bem fraco, não vai dar em nada. Então o seu pai decidiu dar cabo dele.”

"Do away with it?" shrieked Fern. "You mean kill it? Just because it's smaller than the others?"
“Dar cabo dele?” gritou Fern. “Isso significa matar o porquinho? Só porque é menor do que os outros?”

Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. "Don't yell, Fern!" she said. "Your father is right. The pig would probably die anyway."
A sra. Arable colocou uma cumbuca de creme na mesa. “Sem gritaria, Fern!” disse ela. “Seu pai está certo. O porquinho provavelmente vai morrer de qualquer jeito.”

Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime. Fern's sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her father.
Fern empurrou uma cadeira para tirá-la do caminho e correu porta afora. A grama estava úmida e a terra tinha cheiro de primavera. Os tênis de Fern estavam ensopados quando ela alcançou o pai.

"Please don't kill it!" she sobbed. "It's unfair."
“Por favor, não mate o porquinho!” choramingou ela. “É uma injustiça.

Mr. Arable stopped walking.
O sr. Arable parou de andar.

"Fern," he said gently, "you will have to learn to control yourself."
“Fern,” disse ele gentilmente, “você precisa aprender a se controlar.”

"Control myself?" yelled Fern. "This is a matter of life and death, and you talk about controlling myself."
“Me controlar?” gritou Fern. “É uma questão de vida e morte, e você falando de me controlar.

Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the ax and tried to pull it out of her father's hand.
Lágrimas rolaram pelas bochechas da menina; ela segurou o machado e tentou arrancá-lo da mão do pai.

"Fern," said Mr. Arable, "I know more about raising a litter of pigs than you do. A weakling makes trouble. Now run along!"
“Fern,” disse o sr. Arable, “eu entendo mais de criação de porcos do que você. Um franzino assim só traz amolação. Agora saia daqui!

"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?"
“Mas é uma injustiça,” protestou Fern. “O porco não tinha como evitar ser pequeno, tinha? Se eu tivesse nascido pequenininha, você teria me matado?”

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."
O sr. Arable sorriu. “Com certeza não,” disse ele, olhando com amor para a filha. “Mas é uma situação diferente. Uma menininha é uma coisa, um porco nanico é outra.”

"I see no difference," replied Fern, still hanging on to the ax. "This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of."
“Eu não vejo diferença,” respondeu Fern, ainda se prendendo ao machado. “É o maior caso de injustiça que já vi.”

A queer look came over John Arable's face. He seemed almost ready to cry himself.
Uma expressão engraçada tomou conta do rosto de John Arable. Ele mesmo parecia prestes a chorar.

"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."
“Está bem,” disse ele. “Volte para a casa; vou pegar o nanico e levar o bichinho para dentro. Você vai ter que alimentar o porquinho com uma mamadeira, que nem um bebê. E aí você vai ver o problema que um porquinho causa.

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.
Quando o sr. Arable voltou para casa meia hora depois, carregava debaixo do braço uma caixa. Fern estava lá em cima, trocando de tênis. A mesa da cozinha estava posta para o café da manhã, e a sala cheirava a café, bacon, gesso molhado e fumaça da lenha no fogão. 

"Put it on her chair!" said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arable set the carton down at Fern's place. Then he walked to the sink and washed his hands and dried them on the roller towel.
“Bote na cadeira dela!” disse a sra. Arable. O sr. Arable colocou a caixa de papelão no assento de Fern. E então caminhou até a pia, lavou as mãos e as secou na toalha pendurada.

Fern came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red from crying. As she approached her chair, the carton wobbled, and there was a scratching noise. Fern looked at her father. Then she lifted the lid of the carton. There, inside, looking up at her, was the newborn pig. It was a white one. The morning light shone through its ears, turning them pink.
Fern desceu as escadas bem devagarinho. Seus olhos estavam vermelhos de tanto chorar. Ela foi se aproximando da cadeira, e a caixa de papelão balançou, sendo arranhada. Fern olhou para o pai. Então levantou a tampa da caixa. Ali dentro, olhando para, estava o porco recém-nascido. Era branco. A luz da manhã atravessava as orelhinhas, deixando-as rosadas. 

"He's yours," said Mr. Arable. "Saved from an untimely death. And may the good Lord forgive me for this foolishness."
“Ele é seu,” disse o sr. Arable. “Salvo de uma morte precoce. E que o bom Senhor me perdoe por essa tolice.”

Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, look at him! He's absolutely per­fect."
Fern não conseguia tirar os olhos do porquinho. “Ah,” sussurrou ela. “Ah, olhe só para ele! Ele é absolutamente perfeito.”

She closed the carton carefully. First she kissed her father, then she kissed her mother. Then she opened the lid again, lifted the pig out, and held it against her cheek. At this moment her brother Avery came into the room.
Ela fechou a caixa com cuidado. Deu um beijo no pai e, em seguida, deu outro na mãe. E então abriu a tampa de novo, ergueu o porco e o apertou contra a bochecha. Naquele momento, o irmão dela, Avery, entrou na sala.

Avery was ten. He was heavily armed - an air rifle in one hand, a wooden dagger in the other.
Avery tinha dez anos. Estava fortemente armado — uma espingarda de ar comprimido em uma mão, uma adaga de madeira na outra.

"What's that?" he demanded. "What's Fern got?"
“O que é isso?” exigiu saber. “O que a Fern ganhou?”

“She's got a guest for breakfast," said Mrs. Arable. “Wash your hands and face, Avery!"
“Ela trouxe um convidado para o café da manhã,” disse a sra. Arable. “Lave as mãos e o rosto, Avery!”

"Let's see it!" said Avery, setting his gun down. “You call that miserable thing a pig? That's a fine specimen of a pig - it's no bigger than a white rat."
“Deixe eu ver!” disse Avery, abandonando a arma. “Você chama essa porcaria aí de porco? Que belo exemplar de porco… não passa de um rato branco.” 

"Wash up and eat your breakfast, Avery!" said his mother. "The school bus will be along in half an hour."
“Vá se lavar para tomar o café da manhã, Avery!” disse a mãe. “O ônibus da escola vai passar em meia hora.” 

"Can I have a pig, too, Pop?" asked Avery.
“Posso ter um porco também, papai?” perguntou Avery.

"No, I only distribute pigs to early risers," said Mr. Arable. "Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one, to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly. Let's eat!"
“Não, só quem madruga ganha um porco,” disse o sr. Arable. “Fern já estava de pé quando o sol nasceu, tentando acabar com as injustiças do mundo. E é por este motivo que ela agora tem um porco. Um nanico, sim, mas ainda assim, um porco. Isso serve para mostrar o que pode acontecer se uma pessoa levanta cedo. Vamos comer!”

But Fern couldn't eat until her pig had had a drink of milk. Mrs. Arable found a baby's nursing bottle and a rubber nipple. She poured warm milk into the bottle, fitted the nipple over the top, and handed it to Fern. "Give him his breakfast!" she said.
Mas Fern não conseguiu comer até o porquinho ter bebido leite. A sra. Arable encontrou uma mamadeira e um bico de borracha. Ela derramou leite morno na mamadeira, encaixou o bico na parte de cima, e a entregou a Fern. “Sirva o café da manhã dele!” disse ela. 

A minute later, Fern was seated on the floor in the corner of the kitchen with her infant between her knees, teaching it to suck from the bottle. The pig, although tiny, had a good appetite and caught on quickly.
Um minuto depois, Fern estava em canto da cozinha, sentada no chão, com o filhote aninhado entre os joelhos, o ensinando a sugar a mamadeira. O porco, ainda que miúdo, tinha um grande apetite e aprendeu depressa.

The school bus honked from the road.
O ônibus escolar buzinou na estrada. 

"Run!" commanded Mrs. Arable, taking the pig from Fern and slipping a doughnut into her hand. Avery grabbed his gun and another doughnut.
“Rápido!” ordenou a sra. Arable, tomando o porco de Fern e enfiando um biscoito na mão dela. Avery agarrou a arma dele e outro biscoito.

The children ran out to the road and climbed into the bus. Fern took no notice of the others in the bus. She just sat and stared out of the window, thinking what a blissful world it was and how lucky she was to have entire charge of a pig. By the time the bus reached school, Fern had named her pet, selecting the most beautiful name she could think of.
As crianças correram para a estrada e subiram no ônibus. Fern mal notou os coleguinhas no ônibus. Ela simplesmente se sentou e olhou para fora da janela, pensando em como o mundo era maravilhoso e em como ela era sortuda por ser dona de um porco. Quando o ônibus chegou à escola, Fern já tinha escolhido um nome para o bichinho dela, o mais bonito que conseguia pensar.

"Its name is Wilbur," she whispered to herself.
“O nome dele é Wilbur,” sussurrou para si.

She was still thinking about the pig when the teacher said: "Fern, what is the capital of Pennsylvania?"
Ainda estava pensando no porco quando o professor perguntou: “Fern, qual é a capital da Pensilvânia?”

"Wilbur," replied Fern, dreamily. The pupils giggled. Fern blushed.
“Wilbur,” respondeu Fern, sonhadora. Os alunos riram. Fern corou.