It was almost unbelievable, said Squealer, that any animal could be so stupid.
Surely, he cried indignantly, whisking his tail and skipping from side to side,
surely they knew their beloved Leader, Comrade Napoleon, better than that?
But the explanation was really very simple. The van had previously been the property of the knacker,
and had been bought by the veterinary surgeon, who had not yet painted the old name out.
That was how the mistake had arisen. The animals were enormously relieved to hear this.
And when Squealer went on to give further graphic details of Boxer's death-bed, the admirable care he had received,
and the expensive medicines for which Napoleon had paid without a thought as to the cost,
their last doubts disappeared and the sorrow that they felt for their comrade's death
was tempered by the thought that at least he had died happy.
Napoleon himself appeared at the meeting on the following Sunday morning and pronounced a short oration in Boxer's honour.
It had not been possible, he said, to bring back their lamented comrade's remains for interment on the farm,
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