"Lurvy!" he called.
"There is to be no more manure thrown down into that pigpen.
I have a terrific pig.
I want that pig to have clean, bright strwa every day for his bedding. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Lurvy.
"Furthermore," said Mr. Zuckerman,
"I want you to start building a crate for Wilbur.
I have decided to take the pig to the Country Fair on September sixth.
Make the crate large and paint it green with gold letters!"
"What will the letters say?" asked Lurvy.
"They sould say Zukerman's Famou Pig."
Lurvy picked up a pitchfork and walked away to get some clean straw.
Having such an important pig was going to mean plenty of ertra work, he could see that.
Below the apple orchard, at the end of a path, was the dump
Where Mr. Zuckerman threw all sorts of trash and stuff that nobdoy wanted any more.
Here, in a small clearing hidden by young alders and wild raspberry bushes, was an astonishing pile of old bottles and empty tin cans and dirty rags and bits of metal and broken bottles and broken springs and dead batteries and lat month's magazines and old discarded dishmops and tattered overalls and rusty spikes and leaky pails and forgotten stoppers and useless junk of all kinds, including a wrong-size crank for a broken ice-cream freezer.
Tempeton knew the dump and liked it.
There were good hiding places there- excellent cover for a rat.
And there was usually a tin can with food still clinging to the inside.
31.夏洛的网-68
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