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Charlotte's web / written and performed by E.B. White ; [afterword by Peter F. Neumeyer].
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- 26 of 28 copies available at Bibliomation. (Show)
- 2 of 2 copies available at Rowayton Library.
|Location||Call Number / Copy Notes||Barcode||Shelving Location||Status||Due Date|
|Rowayton Library||J CD WHI (Text to phone)||33625130065159||Juvenile Book on CD||Available||-|
|Rowayton Library||J CD WHI (Text to phone)||33625138944199||Juvenile Book on CD||Available||-|
- ISBN: 0807208523
- ISBN: 9780807208526
- Physical Description: 3 audio discs (3 hr., 34 min.) : digital ; 4 3/4 in.
- Edition: Unabridged.
- Publisher: New York : Random House Audio : Listening Library, ©2002, ℗1970. New York : Random House Audio : ©2002, ℗1970.
Compact disc, digital recording.
"Includes a retrospective essay ... that explores the development and publication of the novel and of its creators."--Container.
|Participant or Performer Note:||Performed by E.B. White ; afterword read by George Plimpton.|
|Summary, etc.:||Wilbur, the pig, is desolate when he discovers that he is destined to be the farmer's Christmas dinner until his spider friend, Charlotte, decides to help him.|
|Target Audience Note:||
Recommended for listeners ages 7 and up.
Based on the Newbery Honor award-winning book of 1953.
Search for related items by subject
|Subject:||Swine Juvenile fiction
Spiders Juvenile fiction
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Charlotte's Web/Stuart Little Slipcase Gift Set Charlotte's Web Chapter One 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?" Stuart Little Chapter One In the Drain When Mrs. Frederick C. Little's second son arrived, everybody noticed that he was not much bigger than a mouse. The truth of the matter was, the baby looked very much like a mouse in every way. He was only about two inches high; and he had a mouse's sharp nose, a mouse's tail, a mouse's whiskers, and the pleasant, shy manner of a mouse. Before he was many days old he was not only looking like a mouse but acting like one, too-wearing a gray hat and carrying a small cane. Mr. and Mrs. Little named him Stuart, and Mr. Little made him a tiny bed out of four clothespins and a cigarette box. Unlike most babies, Stuart could walk as soon as he was born. When he was a week old he could climb lamps by shinnying up the cord. Mrs. Little saw right away that the infant clothes she had provided were unsuitable, and she set to work and made him a fine little blue worsted suit with patch pockets in which he could keep his handkerchief, his money, and his keys. Every morning, before Stuart dressed, Mrs. Little went into his room and weighed him on a small scale which was really meant for weighing letters. At birth Stuart could have been sent by first class mail for three cents, but his parents preferred to keep him rather than send him away; and when, at the age of a month, he had gained only a third of an ounce, his mother was so worried she sent for the doctor. The doctor was delighted with Stuart and said that it was very unusual for an American family to have a mouse. He took Stuart's temperature and found that it was 98.6, which is normal for a mouse. He also examined Stuart's chest and heart and looked into his ears solemnly with a flashlight. (Not every doctor can look into a mouse's ear without laughing.) Everything seemed to be all right, and Mrs. Little was pleased to get such a good report. "Feed him up!" said the doctor cheerfully, as he left. The home of the Little family was a pleasant place near a park in New York City. In the mornings the sun streamed in through the east windows, and all the Littles were up early as a general rule. Stuart was a great help to his parents, and to his older brother George, because of his small size and because he could do things that a mouse can do and was agreeable about doing them. One day when Mrs. Little was washing out the bathtub after Mr. Little had taken a bath, she lost a ring off her finger and was horrified to discover that it had fallen down the drain. "What had I better do?" she cried, trying to keep the tears back. "If I were you," said George, "I should bend a hairpin in the shape of a fishhook and tie it onto a piece of string and try to fish the ring out with it." So Mrs. Little found a piece of string and a hairpin, and for about a half-hour she fished for the ring; but it was dark down the drain and the hook always seemed to catch on something before she could get it down to where the ring was. "What luck?" inquired Mr. Little, coming into the bathroom. "No luck at all," said Mrs. Little. "The ring is so far down I can't fish it up." "Why don't we send Stuart down after it?" suggested Mr. Little. "How about it, Stuart, would you like to try?" "Yes, I would," Stuart replied, "but I think I'd better get into my old pants. I imagine it's wet down there." "It's all of that," said George, who was a trifle annoyed that his hook idea hadn't worked. So Stuart slipped into his old pants and prepared to go down the drain after the ring. He decided to carry the string along with him, leaving one end in charge of his father. Charlotte's Web/Stuart Little Slipcase Gift Set . Copyright Â© by E. White. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Charlotte's Web/Stuart Little Slipcase by E. B. White All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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