The animals crowded round the van. “Good-bye, Boxer!” they chorused, “good-bye!”
“Fools! Fools!” shouted Benjamin, prancing round them and stamping the earth with his small hoofs.
“Fools! Do you not see what is written on the side of that van?”
That gave the animals pause, and there was a hush. Muriel began to spell out the words.
But Benjamin pushed her aside and in the midst of a deadly silence he read:
“Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Willingdon. Dealer in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied.”
“Do you not understand what that means? They are taking Boxer to the knacker’s!”
A cry of horror burst from all the animals. At this moment the man on the box whipped up his horses
and the van moved out of the yard at a smart trot. All the animals followed, crying out at the tops of their voices.
Clover forced her way to the front. The van began to gather speed. Clover tried to stir her stout limbs to a gallop, and achieved a canter.
“Boxer!” she cried. “Boxer! Boxer! Boxer!”
And just at this moment, as though he had heard the uproar outside, Boxer’s face, with the white stripe down his nose,
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