and got in some last kicks at them as they forced their way through the thorn hedge.
They had won, but they were weary and bleeding. Slowly they began to limp back towards the farm.
The sight of their dead comrades stretched upon the grass moved some of them to tears.
And for a little while they halted in sorrowful silence at the place where the windmill had once stood.
Yes, it was gone; almost the last trace of their labour was gone!
Even the foundations were partially destroyed. And in rebuilding it they could not this time, as before, make use of the fallen stones.
This time the stones had vanished too. The force of the explosion had flung them to distances of hundreds of yards.
It was as though the windmill had never been. As they approached the farm Squealer, who had unaccountably been absent during the fighting,
came skipping towards them, whisking his tail and beaming with satisfaction.
And the animals heard, from the direction of the farm buildings, the solemn booming of a gun.
“What is that gun firing for?” said Boxer. “To celebrate our victory!” cried Squealer.
“What victory?” said Boxer. His knees were bleeding, he had lost a shoe and split his hoof,
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