«Где папа идет с топор?» Папоротник спросил ее мать за столом во время завтрака. «Идти в сарай, сказала миссис Араб. «Несколько свиней родились прошлой ночью».«Я не понимаю, зачем ему нужен топор, продолжал папоротник, которому было всего восемь лет. «Ну, сказала мать. «Один из свиней короткий, очень маленький и слабый, и нам это бесполезно, поэтому твой отец решил закончить его».«Покончить с этим?» - закричал папоротник. «Ты собираешься убить ее? Только потому, что она меньше остальных?»«Не кричите, папоротник!» - сказала миссис Арад. «Твой отец прав, свиньи, вероятно, все равно должны умереть». Ферн отодвинул стул и побежал снаружи. Трава была влажной, а земля пахла весной. Кроссовки Папоротника были мокрыми, и через некоторое время она догнала своего отца. «, не убивай его!» - закричала она. «Это несправедливо», мистер Арайд остановился. «Папоротник, тихо сказал он, ты должен научиться контролировать себя».«Держись за руки?» - закричал папоротник. «Это вопрос жизни и смерти, и вы говорите о том, чтобы управлять собой». Слезы текли по ее щекам, и она схватила топор и попыталась вытащить его из рук отца. «Папоротник, сказал мистер Арад, я больше знаю о выращивании свиней, чем ты. Слабак приносит проблемы. А теперь убирайся отсюда!«Но это несправедливо», воскликнул папоротник. «Поросенок не мог не родиться маленьким, не так ли? Если бы я был очень маленькимвы бы меня убили? Мистер Пауэр улыбнулся. «Конечно, нет», сказал он, с любовью глядя на свою дочь. «Это совсем другое: девушка - это одно, а свинья - чахлый другой»,«Я не вижу разницы», ответил папоротник, все еще вися на топоре. «Это худший случай несправедливости, которую я когда-либо слышал». Странный взгляд покрыл лицо Джона Пайпа. Казалось, он почти ожидал, что он заплачет. «Хорошо, сказал он. «Ты вернешься в дом, и я принесу Коротышку, когда я вернусь домой. Я позволю тебе положить его в дымку сена, как ребенок, и тогда ты увидишь, что может быть с этой свинью». Когда через полчаса мистер Араб вернулся домой, он держал под мышкой коробку. Папоротник был наверху, меняя обувь. Столик для кухни был установлен на завтрак, и в комнате пахло кофе, беконом, влажной штукатуркой и дымом из дерева. Положите его на стул, сказала миссис Пайбл, мистер Араб, положив коробку на папоротник, потом подошла к раковине, вымыла руки и вытерла полотенцем. Папоротник медленно шел по лестнице. Глаза ее краснели от слез. Когда она подошла к стулу, ящик болтал, и раздался звук царапин. Папоротник посмотрел на отца. Затем она открыла крышку коробки. Там, внутри, глядя на нее, была новорожденная свинья. Он был белым. Утренний свет сиял в ушах, превращая их в розовый. "Это ваше". Сказал г-н Арад. «Спасенный от преждевременной смерти. И может и хорошо, Боже мой, прости меня за эту глупость». Папоротник не мог оторвать глаз от крошечных свиней. «О», прошептала она. «О, посмотри на него, это абсолютно реально».
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“Wheres Papa going with the ax?"fern asked her
... mother at the table during Breakfast.
"Going to the barn," said Mrs. Arabl. "Several pigs were born last night."
"I dont understand why he needs an ax," continued fern, who was only eight years old.
"Well," said mother. "One of the pigs is short. Very small and weak, and it is no use to us. So your father decided to end it."
"To end it?"screamed fern. "You mean to kill her? Just because shes smaller than the others?"
"Dont shout, fern!"said Mrs. Arable. "Your father is right. Pigs will probably have to die anyway."
Fern pushed a chair aside and ran outside. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of spring. Ferns sneakers were wet, and after a while she caught up with her father. "Please dont kill him!"she cried. "Its not fair", Mr. Arable stopped.
"Fern, "he said softly," you must learn to control yourself. "
"Keep your hands to yourself?"screamed fern. "Its a matter of life and death, and youre talking about running yourself." Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she grabbed an axe and tried to pull it out of her fathers hands.
"Fern," said Mr. Arable, “I know more about raising pigs than you do. A weakling brings trouble. Now get out of here!"
"But it is unfair,” cried fern. "A pig couldnt help but be born small, could it? If only I was very little at
birth, would you kill me?"
Mr. of Arable smiled. "Of course not," he said, looking at his daughter with love. "It is quite another. A girl is one thing, and a pig is a stunted other"
"I dont see the difference. "fern answered, still hanging on the axe. "This is the worst case of injustice Ive ever heard. "
A strange look covered the face of John Arable. It seemed that he almost expected himself to cry.
"Well," he Said. "You go back to the house, and Ill bring the Shorty when I get home. Ill let you put it in a haze of hay like a baby. Then you will see what the problem might be with this pig."
When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an hour later, he was carrying a box under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing shoes. The kitchen table was set for Breakfast and the room smelled like coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.
Put him on the chair!"said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arabl put the box down in ferns place. Then he went to the sink and washed his hands and dried them with a towel.
Fern walked slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red with tears. When she walked up to her chair, the box chattered and there was a scratch sound. Fern looked at her father. Then she opened the lid of the box. There, inside, looking at her, was a newborn piggy. He was white. The morning light shining through the ears, turning them pink.
"Its yours". said Mr. Arable. "Saved from premature death. And can and well, my God, forgive me for this stupidity."
Fern could not take her eyes from the tiny pigs. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh. Look at him! Its absolutely real."
"Going to the barn," said Mrs. Arabl. "Several pigs were born last night."
"I dont understand why he needs an ax," continued fern, who was only eight years old.
"Well," said mother. "One of the pigs is short. Very small and weak, and it is no use to us. So your father decided to end it."
"To end it?"screamed fern. "You mean to kill her? Just because shes smaller than the others?"
"Dont shout, fern!"said Mrs. Arable. "Your father is right. Pigs will probably have to die anyway."
Fern pushed a chair aside and ran outside. The grass was wet and the earth smelled of spring. Ferns sneakers were wet, and after a while she caught up with her father. "Please dont kill him!"she cried. "Its not fair", Mr. Arable stopped.
"Fern, "he said softly," you must learn to control yourself. "
"Keep your hands to yourself?"screamed fern. "Its a matter of life and death, and youre talking about running yourself." Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she grabbed an axe and tried to pull it out of her fathers hands.
"Fern," said Mr. Arable, “I know more about raising pigs than you do. A weakling brings trouble. Now get out of here!"
"But it is unfair,” cried fern. "A pig couldnt help but be born small, could it? If only I was very little at
birth, would you kill me?"
Mr. of Arable smiled. "Of course not," he said, looking at his daughter with love. "It is quite another. A girl is one thing, and a pig is a stunted other"
"I dont see the difference. "fern answered, still hanging on the axe. "This is the worst case of injustice Ive ever heard. "
A strange look covered the face of John Arable. It seemed that he almost expected himself to cry.
"Well," he Said. "You go back to the house, and Ill bring the Shorty when I get home. Ill let you put it in a haze of hay like a baby. Then you will see what the problem might be with this pig."
When Mr. Arable returned to the house half an hour later, he was carrying a box under his arm. Fern was upstairs changing shoes. The kitchen table was set for Breakfast and the room smelled like coffee, bacon, damp plaster, and wood smoke from the stove.
Put him on the chair!"said Mrs. Arable. Mr. Arabl put the box down in ferns place. Then he went to the sink and washed his hands and dried them with a towel.
Fern walked slowly down the stairs. Her eyes were red with tears. When she walked up to her chair, the box chattered and there was a scratch sound. Fern looked at her father. Then she opened the lid of the box. There, inside, looking at her, was a newborn piggy. He was white. The morning light shining through the ears, turning them pink.
"Its yours". said Mr. Arable. "Saved from premature death. And can and well, my God, forgive me for this stupidity."
Fern could not take her eyes from the tiny pigs. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh. Look at him! Its absolutely real."
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