He would perch on a stump, flap his black wings, and talk by the hour to anyone who would listen.
“Up there, comrades,” he would say solemnly, pointing to the sky with his large beak—
“up there, just on the other side of that dark cloud that you can see—there it lies, Sugarcandy Mountain,
that happy country where we poor animals shall rest for ever from our labours!”
He even claimed to have been there on one of his higher flights, and to have seen the everlasting fields of clover
and the linseed cake and lump sugar growing on the hedges. Many of the animals believed him.
Their lives now, they reasoned, were hungry and laborious; was it not right and just that a better world should exist somewhere else?
A thing that was difficult to determine was the attitude of the pigs towards Moses.
They all declared contemptuously that his stories about Sugarcandy Mountain were lies, and yet they allowed him to remain on the farm,
not working, with an allowance of a gill of beer a day.
After his hoof had healed up, Boxer worked harder than ever. Indeed, all the animals worked like slaves that year.
Apart from the regular work of the farm, and the rebuilding of the windmill,
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