He saw her up overhead in a corner near the back of his pen. She was very quiet. Her eight legs were spread wide. She seemed to have shrunk during the night. Next to her, attached to the ceiling, Wilbur saw a curious object. It was a sort of sac, or cocoon. It was peach-colored and looked as though it were made of cotton candy. “Are you awake, Charlotte?” he said softly. “Yes,” came the answer. “What is that nifty little thing? Did you make it?” “I did indeed,” replied Charlotte in a weak voice. “Is it a plaything?” “Plaything? I should say not. It is my egg sac, my magnum opus.” “I don’t know what a magnum opus is,” said Wilbur. “That’s Latin,” explained Charlotte. “It means ‘great work.’ This egg sac is my great work—the finest thing I have ever made.” “What’s inside it?” asked Wilbur. “Eggs?” “Five hundred and fourteen of them,” she replied. “Five hundred and fourteen?” said Wilbur. “You’re kidding.” “No, I’m not.
