夏洛的网
1. 早餐之前
"爸爸拿着斧子去哪儿了？"在他们收拾桌子准备吃早饭时，芬问她的母亲。
"去猪圈了，"阿拉贝尔太太回答。"昨晚生了几只小猪。"
"我不明白他为什么需要一把斧子，"只有八岁的芬继续说。
"哦"，她的母亲说，"其中的一头是个小个子。它长得又小又弱，没有任何可留下来的价值了。所以你爸爸决定去消灭它。"
"消灭它？"芬尖叫。"你是说杀死它？就因为他比别人的个子小？"
阿拉贝尔太太把一罐乳酪放到桌上。"别嚷，芬！"她说。"你爸做的对。那头猪不论如何都会死的。"
芬推开挡在面前的椅子就往门外跑。草地湿漉漉的，泥土里散发着春天的气息。等芬赶上她的爸爸时，她的运动胶鞋全都湿透了。
"请别杀它！"她呜咽道。"这不公平！"
阿拉贝尔先生止住了脚。
"芬"，他温柔的说，"你该学会自我控制。"
"自我控制？"芬哭叫道，"这可是一件生死大事！你却对我说什么自我控制！"泪水流到芬的面颊上。她抓住了斧头柄，想把它从父亲手中抢下来。
"芬"，阿拉贝尔先生说，"养小猪的事我比你知道的多。一个体质差的小猪很难养活的。现在你该放我走了！"
"可是这不公平，"芬哭叫着。"这头猪愿意让自己生下来就小吗，它愿意吗？如果我生下来时也很瘦小，你就会杀死我吗？"
阿拉贝尔先生微笑了。"当然不会了，"他说着，低下头慈爱地望着女儿。"但这是不一样的。一个小女孩是一码事儿，一个小瘦猪是另一码事儿。"
"我看没什么不一样，"芬回答着，仍死抓着斧柄不放。"这是我曾经听到过的最恐怖的案件！"
约翰·阿拉贝尔先生的脸上出现了某种奇特的表情。他好像也要哭了。
"好吧，"他说。"你先回家吧。等我回家，我会把那头小猪带回来。我将让你用奶瓶喂他，象喂婴儿一样。那时你就会明白一头小猪会多么麻烦了。"
半小时后，阿拉贝尔先生胳膊下夹着一个纸板盒回了家。芬正在楼上换她的运动鞋。厨房的桌子上摆好了早餐，房间里都是咖啡，薰肉的香味，湿湿的灰泥味儿，还有从炉子里荡出来的柴火烟味儿。
"把它放到她的椅子上！"阿拉贝尔太太说。阿拉贝尔先生把纸板盒放到芬的位子上。然后他到洗手池洗了手，用池边滚筒上的毛巾把手擦干。
芬慢慢地下了楼。因为刚刚哭过，她的眼还是红红的。当她走近她的椅子，纸板盒开始晃动起来，里面传出了抓搔声。芬看了看她的父亲。然后她掀起了盒盖。从那里面打量着她的，正是那新生的小猪。它是白色的。早晨的阳光把它的耳朵映得粉红。
"他是你的了，" 阿拉贝尔先生说。"是你使他免于一死。愿上帝能原谅我这愚蠢的行为。"
芬不错眼珠地看着这头小小猪。"哦，"她轻声赞美。"哦，看他呀！他漂亮极了。"
她小心的关上了盖子。她先吻了爸爸，又吻了妈妈。然后她又揭开盖子，把小猪举起来，让他贴到自己的脸上。这时，她的哥哥埃弗里走了进来。埃弗里十岁了。他的身上可是全副武装呢--一只手里拿着气枪，一只手里攥着一把木制匕首。
"那是什么？"他问。"芬得了什么了？"
"她有了一位来吃早餐的客人，" 阿拉贝尔太太说。"埃弗里，去洗手洗脸！"
"让我看看它嘛！"埃弗里说着，放下他的枪。"你说这可怜的小东西是一头猪？这不过是一头猪的小型复制品而已--他还没有一只白老鼠大呢。"
"去洗脸吃饭，埃弗里！"他的妈妈说。"半小时内校车就要来了。"
"我也能有一头小猪吗，爸？"埃弗里问。
"不，我只把小猪送给早起的人，" 阿拉贝尔先生说。"为了制止这世界上的不公正行为，芬天刚亮就起床了。结果，她现在有了一头小猪。当然了，他的确是特别小，可不管怎么说这都是一头小猪。这只是表明，如果一个人能迅速地从床上爬起来，会有什么样的事情发生。让我们开饭吧！"
但是芬要等到她的小猪喝完牛奶后才肯吃饭。阿拉贝尔太太找出了一个婴儿用的奶瓶和奶嘴儿。她把温乎乎的牛奶倒进奶瓶里，又把奶嘴儿安上，才把奶瓶递给了芬。"给他吃早餐吧！"她说。
一分钟后，芬坐在厨房角落里的地板上，把她的小宝贝抱在膝头，开始教他如何从瓶中喝奶。这小猪虽然那么小，却有一个好胃口，而且也学得很快。
路上响起了校车的喇叭声。
"快跑！" 阿拉贝尔太太命令着，把小猪从芬那里抱下来，将一张油煎圈饼放到她的手上。埃弗里赶忙抓起他的枪和另一张油煎圈饼。
孩子们跑到路边，上了校车。在车里，芬没有注意其他的人。她只是坐在那里朝车窗外看，想着这是个多美好的世界，自己又是多么幸运，居然可以拥有一头小猪。在车开到学校的那一刻，芬已经给她的宝贝起好了名字，选的是她能想到的最漂亮的名字。
"它的名字是威伯"，她喃喃的自语。
当老师在课堂里问她："芬，宾夕法尼亚洲的首府叫什么？"时，她还在想着那头小猪。
"威伯"，芬出神的回答。同学们格格地笑起来。芬脸红了。
Charlotte's Web （By E.B.White）
夏洛的网 作者：E.B.怀特
小编注：故事的开始，就由父亲要杀一头先天不足的小猪而展开，大家可以关注一下芬的母亲对于这只小猪的描述“one of the pigs is a runt. It's very small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. ”其中说到这只小猪是一只“runt”，“runt”这个单词的意思是“发育不全的矮小动物”，别看它指的是小动物，指“瘦小发育不良的小孩子”也是可以的（当然，人也是动物的一种吧），比如我要表达“艾米是一个瘦小发育不良的小孩子”，就可以说“Amy is a skinny runt. ”。
因为刚出生的小猪崽先天不足，发育不全，所以对于养猪户来说是毫无用处的，所以芬的妈妈说“it will never amount to anything”，这句话的意思也就是“无价值，无用处”的意思，这样的表达是不是单单比用一个“useless”要生动形象很多呢~“amout to”直译是“发展成、意味着”的意思，“never amount to anything”也就可以译作“永远不会发展成任何东西”，拐个小弯就可以理解成“毫无价值”的意思咯~
小编注：这里小编先想讲讲一个简单的单词“earth”，相信大家都学过这样一个单词，并且通常会将它翻译作“地球”，但是请看这里的earth是首字母小写，并不是大写，面对的这样的情况，这个单词的意思就不能想当然了，我们来一起看一下书中的原句“The grass was wet and the earth smelled of springtime.”原句的意思并不难理解，说是“草地湿润，……有着春天的味道”，联想一下，一般我们都会说是“泥土有着春天的气息”，其实这里的earth也就是“泥土”的意思。美国大作家赛珍珠有一本书的名字就叫做“The Good Earth”，中文译名既不是“好地球”也不是“好泥土”，而是“大地”，是不是很神奇呢？具体为什么，还是要看了内容才能知晓哦~
一个小小的单词，在不同的地方可以有着不同的意思，这不是单纯的死记硬背就能让我们在阅读时游刃有余的，关键还是要大量的阅读，见多便能识广，当然，这阅读不能是盲目的，要带着目的性的读，带着思考去读。
小编注：善良的芬不忍小猪就这样被宰杀，于是急忙找了父亲理论，并说这是一件“生死攸关的大事”——This is a matter of life and death. 这句句子变相的含义也就是“This is extremely important.” 但是两句相比之下，前一句是不是很有底蕴很有感觉呢~
面对芬理论，父亲阿拉贝尔先生辩解道“A little girl is one thing, a little runty pig is another.”，这里大家可以关注一下这个表达“……is one thing, ……is another”，这也就是我们常说的“……是一码事儿，……是另一码事儿”。
小编注：这几段文字中，精彩的表达依然层出不穷，“A queer look came over John Arable's face.”中的come over用得巧妙，大家可以把“a……look/expression come over one's face”这个词组一起记，也就是“XXX的脸上呈现出一种……的表情”的意思，come over这个词组如果单纯查查字典，可以发现大部分解释中并没有这样的意思，只有通过这样的阅读，才会发现还有这样的表达。
同时，还有“I'll let you start it on a bottle, like a baby.”这一句也同样精彩，乍一看这句句子让人有点摸不着头脑，什么是“我将会让你先从瓶子上把他开始，像个婴儿一样”？其实这里的“on a bottle”是形容了婴儿的一种状态，就是“喝奶”的状态，孩子喝奶的时候是不是一直捧着一个小奶瓶呢？这样一想是不是就通了，翻译的好一些也就是“我会先让你给它喂奶，就像对待一个婴儿一样。”
“哭红了眼”一般用英语表达的话，大家会怎么说呢？是不是没有考虑过呢？书中给大家提供了一个非常地道的表达——“Her eyes were red from crying.”怎么样？看过是不是有一种恍然大悟的感觉呢？当我们还在绞尽脑汁想着怎么能够地道表达的时候，不妨静下心来仔细看一本好书，收获地道的英语表达，只在不经意之间~
小编注：当你被自己感兴趣的事物所吸引，你会怎么样？是不是两眼珠子紧紧的盯着，目不转睛的看着呢？这样的情况下，如果要用英语表达该怎么说呢？其实说白了就是“不能把眼睛从……挪开”是吧？英语表达的话，直译出来也是差不多的——“cannot take one's eyes off sth”，文中芬被小猪所吸引，所以作者用到了“Fern couldn't take her eyes off the tiny pig.”这样的表达~
Charlotte's Web
By E.B.White
I. Before Breakfast
"Where's Papa going with the 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.
"Fer," 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 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.
