But she always made such excellent excuses, and purred so affectionately, that it was impossible not to believe in her good intentions.
Old Benjamin, the donkey, seemed quite unchanged since the Rebellion.
He did his work in the same slow obstinate way as he had done it in Jones’s time, never shirking and never volunteering for extra work either.
About the Rebellion and its results he would express no opinion.
When asked whether he was not happier now that Jones was gone, he would say only “Donkeys live a long time.
None of you has ever seen a dead donkey,” and the others had to be content with this cryptic answer.
On Sundays there was no work. Breakfast was an hour later than usual,
and after breakfast there was a ceremony which was observed every week without fail.
First came the hoisting of the flag. Snowball had found in the harness-room an old green tablecloth of Mrs. Jones’s
and had painted on it a hoof and a horn in white. This was run up the flagstaff in the farmhouse garden every Sunday morning.
The flag was green, Snowball explained, to represent the green fields of England,
while the hoof and horn signified the future Republic of the Animals
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