Скотный двор

           Yes,itwasSquealer. Alittleawkwardly,asthoughnotquiteusedtosupportinghisconsiderablebulkinthatposition,butwithperfectbalance,hewasstrollingacrosstheyard. Andamomentlater,outfromthedoorofthefarmhousecamealongfileofpigs,allwalkingontheirhindlegs. Somediditbetterthanothers,oneortwowereevenatrifleunsteadyandlookedasthoughtheywouldhavelikedthesupportofastick,buteveryoneofthemmadehiswayrightroundtheyardsuccessfully. Andfinallytherewasatremendousbayingofdogsandashrillcrowingfromtheblackcockerel,andoutcameNapoleonhimself,majesticallyupright,castinghaughtyglancesfromsidetoside,andwithhisdogsgambollingroundhim. 

           Hecarriedawhipinhistrotter. 

           Therewasadeadlysilence. Amazed,terrified,huddlingtogether,theanimalswatchedthelonglineofpigsmarchslowlyroundtheyard. Itwasasthoughtheworldhadturnedupside-down. Thentherecameamomentwhenthefirstshockhadwornoffandwhen,inspiteofeverything-inspiteoftheirterrorofthedogs,andofthehabit,developedthroughlongyears,ofnevercomplaining,nevercriticising,nomatterwhathappened—theymighthaveutteredsomewordofprotest. Butjustatthatmoment,asthoughatasignal,allthesheepburstoutintoatremendousbleatingof— 

           "Fourlegsgood,twolegsBETTER! Fourlegsgood,twolegsBETTER! Fourlegsgood,twolegsBETTER!" 

           Itwentonforfiveminuteswithoutstopping. Andbythetimethesheephadquieteddown,thechancetoutteranyprotesthadpassed,forthepigshadmarchedbackintothefarmhouse. 

           Benjaminfeltanosenuzzlingathisshoulder. Helookedround. ItwasClover. Heroldeyeslookeddimmerthanever.