loneliness
The next day was rainiy and dark.
Rain fell on the roof of the bran and dripped steadily from the eaves.
Rain fell in the barnyard and ran in crooked courses down into the lane where thistles and pigweed grew.
Rain spattered against Mrs. Zuckerman's kitchen windows and came gushing out of the downspouts.
Rain fell on the backs of the sheep as they grazed in the meadow.
When the sheep tired of standing in the rain, they walked slowly up the lane and into the fold.
Rain upset Wilbur's plans.
Wilbur had planned to go out, this day, and dig a new hole in his yard.
He had other plans, too.
His plans for the day went something like this; Breakfast at six-thirty.
Skim milk, crusts, middings, bits of doughnuts, wheat cakes with drops of maple syrup sticking to them, potato skins, leftover custard pudding with raisins, and bits of Shreadded Wheat.
Breakfast would be finished at seven.
From seven to eight, Wilbur planned to have a talk with Templeton, the rat that lived under his trough.
Talking with Templeton was not the most interesting occupation in the world but it was better than nothing.
From eight to nine, Wilbur planned to take a nap outdoors in the sun.
From nine to eleven he planned to dig a hole, or trench, and possibly find something good to eat buried in the dirt.
From eleven to twelve he planned to stand still and watch files on the boards, watch bees in the clover, and watch swallows in the air.
