Animal Farm in Scots: Chapters II and III
Follaen on frae Chapter I, here Chapters II and III o my Scots serialisation o Animal Farm, George Orwell’s kenspeckle yairn that cam oot o copyricht a while back. If it’s ony uiss tae ye, I’v waled oot a wheen wirds that fowk micht no ken and pit them in a glossar.
Animal Ferm by George Orwell
Three nichts efter, auld Major dee’d peacefu in his sleep. His bouk wis buirit at the fit o the orchart.
This wis early in the Mairch. Ower the neist three month the’ war a quate steer aboot the place. Major’s discoorse haed gien the mair lang-heidit craiturs on the ferm a hale new ootleuk on life. They didna ken whan the Rebellion spaed by Major wad tak place — they haed nae reason tae jalouse it wad be ithin their ain lifetime — but they haed nae douts it wis their duty tae prepare for it. The pigs teuk on the darg o learin and guidin the ithers, as they war thocht on as bein the maist heidy o the bease. Maist weel-forrit amang the pigs wis twa young boars caa’d Snawba and Napoleon, that Mr Cameron wis breedin up for sale. Napoleon wis a muckle, kin o fairce-leukin Berkshire boar, the ae Berkshire on the ferm, no ower crackie, but kenspeckle for gettin his ain wey. Snawba wis mair spirity a pig as Napoleon, quicker in speak and mair inventive, but wis repute tae no be sae quirkie and thochtie in character. Aa the ither male pigs on the ferm wis porkers. The maist weel kent amang them wis a bausie wee pig caa’d Squaiker, that haed unco roond chowks, skimmerin een, nimmle muivements and a skraichie voice. He wis gleg at the speakin, and whan he wis makkin some kittle threap he haed a wey o liltin frae side tae side and wheechin his tail that somehou gart ye trew what he wis threapin. The ithers said that Squaiker could turn black intae white.
Thir three haed upbiggit auld Major’s teachins intil a hale system o thocht, that they gied the name o Animalism. Several nichts in the ouk, efter Mr Cameron haed faa’n asleep, they held secret communins in the barn and expoondit the principles o Animalism tae the lave. At the stert they met wi a gey lot o gawkitness and indifference. A wheen bease speirt whither it wis no the richt and leesome thing tae haud leal tae Mr Cameron (or ‘Maister’, as they caa’d him), or made elementar remerks like ‘Mr Cameron feeds us. Gin he wisna here oo wad sterve tae deith.’ Ithers speirt siccan questions as ‘What wey should we care what happens efter we’r deid?’ or ‘Gin this Rebellion is tae happen onygate, what odds daes is mak whither we wirk for it or no?’, and the pigs haed a sair time o it garrin them see that this wis contrair tae the spirit o Animalism. The maist glaikit questions o aa wis speirt by Mollie, the white meir. She stertit oot by askin Snawba: ‘Will there aye be sugar efter the Rebellion?’
‘Na,’ says Snawba firm-like. ‘We hae nae wey o makkin sugar on this ferm. Forby, ye dinna need sugar. Ye will hae aa the aits and hey ye want.’
‘And will I aye be alloued tae weir ribbons i’ my mane?’ speirs Mollie.
‘My fere,’ says Snawba, ‘thae ribbons ’at ye ar sae concernt wi is a taiken o your thirldom. Can ye no unnerstaund that líberty is wirth mair nor ribbons?’
Mollie gree’d, but she didna soond ower shuir.
The pigs haed an e’en sairer hechle conterin the lees pitten aboot by Moses, the tame corbie. Moses, that Mr Cameron haed made a pet o, wis a spy and a clype-clash, but he wis a knackie speaker an-aa. He threapit that he kent aboot this mysterious country caa’d Sugarcandy Hill, whaur aa craiturs gaed whan they dee’d. It wis situate somewhaur up in the lift, a wee ayont the cloods, Moses said. In Sugarcandy Hill it wis Sunday seiven days in the ouk, claver wis in season aa year roond, and sugar lumps and lintseed bannocks growed on the hedges. The bease hatit Moses cause he telt tales and did nae wark, but a few o them trewed in Sugarcandy Hill, and the pigs haed a gey time persuadin them it wis aa haivers.
Their maist leal-hertit disciples wis the twa cairt-horse, Boxer and Claver. They aye haed an awfu time thinkin ocht oot for theirsels, but efter they haed acceptit the pigs as their teachers they upteuk aathing they war telt, and passed it on tae the ither craiturs by wey o simple arguments. They war aye at the secret communins in the barn, and led the singin o ‘Bease o Britain’ at the close o ilk ane.
Nou, as it happent, the Rebellion wis wun at a guid bit suiner and mair easy than onybody haed expectit. In the bygane Mr Cameron, for aa that he wis a teuch maister, haed been a capable fermer, but o late he haed dree’d a mishanter. He becam awfu dishertent efter tynin siller in a law-plea, and haed fair taen tae the drink. For hale days at a time he wad lunge in his windsor chair ben the kitchen, readin the newspapers, drinkin, and feedin Moses whiles on crusts o breid droukit in beer. His men wis idle and unhonest, the fields wis fou o weeds, the biggins needit ruifin, the hedges wis neglectit and the bease wis unner-fed.
Juin cam roond and the hey wis near ready for shearin. On Midsimmer nicht, that wis a Seturday, Mr Cameron gaed intil Innerleithen and got that fou at the Reid Lion that he didna come hame till twal oors on the Sunday. The men haed milkit the nowt first thing in the mornin and syne haed gane huntin rabbits, ithoot fashin theirsels tae feed the bease. Whan Mr Cameron got back he gaed strecht tae sleep on the drawin-room cootch wi The Sunday Post ower his face, sae that by the forenicht the bease aye wisna fed. At last and lenth they couldna bide it ony mair. Ane o the kye brak in the door o the keep-hoose wi her horn and aa the craiturs begoud helpin theirsels frae the bins. It wis juist at that maument that Mr Cameron waukent. In a gliff he and his fower men wis in the keep-hoose wi whips in their haunds, cleeshin in aa directions. This wis mair as the hungry bease could thole. Actin as ane, tho nae siclike ploy haed been ettelt aforehaund, they flang theirsels upo their tormentors. Cameron and his men on a suddentie fund theirsels bein powtit and blootert frae aa sides. The’ war nae wey tae haud in the situation. They haed niver seen bease behave like this afore, and this suddent insurrection o craiturs they haed aye pleased theirsels wi doosin and demeanin gied them an unco fleg. Efter juist a maument or twa they gied up weirin theirsels and teuk leg. A meenit efter, aa five o them wis in full flicht doun the cairt-trink that led tae the main gate, wi the bease hoondin them oot in victory.
Mrs Cameron keekit oot o the bedroom windae, saw what wis happenin, heistely flang a wheen haudins intil a cairpet bag and sleekit oot o the ferm by anither gate. Moses lowpit aff his perch and flappit efter her, craikin lood. Meantime the bease haed chased Cameron and his men oot ontae the gate and banged the five-sparred yett ahint them. And sae, aamaist afore they kent what wis happenin, the Rebellion haed been wun til; Cameron wis expelt, and the Kirklands Ferm wis theirs.
For the first few meenits the bease could haurdly trew their guid sonse. Their first act wis tae gallop thegither richt roond the boonds o the ferm, like as tae mak richt shuir nae human bein wis hidin onywhaur upo it; syne they bickert back tae the ferm biggins for tae dicht awa the last inklin o Cameron’s hatit ring. The harness-room at the end o the stables wis brak open; the bits, the nose-rings, the dug-chains, the fell knifes that Mr Cameron haed uised tae lib the pigs and lambs, wis aa flung doun the well. The reins, the krings, the blinkers, the bemeanin haverpokes, wis cuisten ontae the rubbish fire that wis burnin in the yaird. Same wi the whips. Aa the bease fliskit wi joy whan they saw the whips tak lowe. Atour, Snawba threw ontae the fire the ribbons that haed for ordinar buskit the horse’s manes and tails on mercat days.
‘Ribbons,’ he says, ‘should be considert claes, ’at is a merk o the human bein. Aa bease should gang nakit.’
Whan Boxer heard this he fesht the smaa strae hat that he haed worn in the simmer for tae keep the flees oot his lugs, and flang it ontae the fire wi the lave.
In nae time ava the bease haed connacht aathing that mindit them o Mr Cameron. Napoleon syne led them back tae the keep-hoose and serred aabody a gowpin o corn, wi twa biscuits for ilka dug. Syne they sang ‘Bease o Britain’ frae stert tae fínish seiven times ower, and efter that they sattelt doun for the nicht and sleepit like they haed niver sleepit afore.
But they waukent at skreek o day as uisual, and juist than mindin the wunnerfu thing that haed happent they aa bickert oot intae the pastur thegither. A wee doun the pastur the’ war a knowe that gied a vizzy o maist o the ferm. The bease brattelt tae the tap o it and glowert aboot them in the clear mornin licht. Ay, it wis theirs — aathing they could see wis theirs. In the unco pleisur o that thocht they fliskit roond and roond, they hurlt theirsels intae the air wi herty lowps. They rowed in the dew, they chackit moothfus o the sweet simmer gress, they kickit up clods o the black yird and sneeshed its braw scent. Syne they gaed aboot sichtin the hale o the ferm and vizzied in quate admiration the pleuchland, the heyfield, the orchart, the puil, the shaw. It wis like they haed niver seen thir things afore, and they could haurdly trew yet that it wis aa their ain.
Syne they filed back tae the ferm biggins and devauled in silence ootside the door o the fermhoose. That wis theirs an-aa, but they war ower frichtit tae gae ben. Efter a maument, houiver, Snawba and Napoleon powtit the door open wi their shouders and the craiturs gaed ben in single file, walkin wi the utmaist care for fear o steerin ocht. They tiptaed frae room tae room, feart tae speak abuin a whisper and gowpin wi a kin o awe at the incredible braws: at the beds wi their feather mattresses, the leukin-glesses, the horsehair cootch, the Brussels cairpet, a limn o Queen Victoria ower the drawin-room brace. They war juist comin doun the stair whan they saw that Mollie wis missin. Gaun back, the ithers fund she haed bidden ahint in the best bedroom. She haed taen a piece o blue ribbon frae Mrs Cameron’s dressin-table, and wis haudin it agin her shouder and leukin at hersel vauntie-like in the gless in a gey fuil mainer. The lave birselt her shairply, and they gaed ootby. A wheen hams hingin ben the kitchen wis taen oot and yirdit, and the beer bowie in the scullery wis staved in wi a blooter frae Boxer’s huif, but ithergates nocht in the hoose wis titched. Strecht they aa gree’d a resolution that the fermhoose shouldna be preser’d as a museum, and that nae animal maun iver stey there.
The bease teuk their brakfast, and syne Snawba and Napoleon caa’d them thegither again.
‘My feres,’ says Snawba, ‘it’s hauf sax and we hae a lang day afore us. We stert wi the hey hairstin the day. But the’r anither maiter ’at maun be seen tae first.’
The pigs nou luit ken that ower the past three month they haed teached theirsels tae read and write frae an auld spellin beuk that haed belanged Mr Cameron’s bairns and that haed been thrawn on the midden. Napolean sent for pots o black and white pent and led the wey doun tae the five-sparred yett juist afore the main gate. Syne Snawba (sin it wis Snawba that wis best at the scrievin) teuk a brush atween the twa knuckles o his trotter, pentit oot KIRKLANDS FERM frae the tap spar o the yett and in its steid pentit ANIMAL FERM. This wis tae be the name o the ferm frae nou on. Efter this they gaed back tae the ferm biggins, whaur Snawba and Napoleon sent for a ledder and haed it setten agin the end waa o the muckle barn. They expleened that throu their raicent studies the pigs haed wun at stellin the principles o Animalism intae seiven commaunds. Thir seiven commaunds wad nou be inscrieved on the waa; they wad mak up an unmutable law that aa bease on Animal Ferm maun líve by for aye. Wi some adae (sin it isna easy for a pig tae win at a steidy fit on a ledder) Snawba sprauchelt upwart and set tae the pentin, wi Squaiker a wheen spaiks ablo him haudin the pent-pot. The commaunds wis written on the taured waa in muckle white letters that could be read frae thirty yairds awa. They gaed thus:
The Seiven Commaunds
1. Whativer gangs upo twa legs is a fae.
2. Whativer gangs upo fower legs, or haes wíngs, is a freend.
3. Nae craitur maun weir claes.
4. Nae craitur maun sleep in a bed.
5. Nae craitur maun drink alcohol.
6. Nae craitur maun kill ony ither craitur.
7. Aa bease is equal.
It wis gey trigly scrieved, and binna ‘freend’ bein written ‘freand’ and ane o the S’s bein the wrang wey roond, the spellin wis correct aa the wey throu. Snawba read it oot lood for the vantage o the lave. Aa the bease noddit in clean greement, and the mair heidy anes begoud strecht tae learn the commaunds by hert.
‘Nou, my feres,’ skirls Snawba, thrawin doun the pentbrush, ‘tae the heyfield! Lat us mak it a pynt o honour tae win throu the hairstin fester nor Cameron and his men could dae.’
But at that maument the three kye, that haed been actin no richt for a guid wee while, begoud rowtin lood. They haedna been milkit for twinty-fower oors, and their udders wis pang fou. Efter a wee bit thocht the pigs sent for buckets and milkit the kye weel eneuch, their trotters bein weel adaptit tae the task. Suin the’ war five stowps o reamy milk that mony o the bease leukit at wi bonnie interest.
‘What’s gaun tae happen aa that milk?’ says somebody.
‘Cameron uised tae mix some o it in wi oor champ whiles,’ says ane o the hens.
‘Dinna be concernin yoursels wi the milk, feres!’ cries oot Napoleon, settin hissel afore the bucket. ‘That’ll be taen care o. The hairst is mair important. Fere Snawba will lead the wey. I s’ follae ye in a wee. Gae forrit, feres! The hey is waitin.’
Sae the bease troupit doun tae the heyfield tae stert the hairstin, and whan they cam back at e’en it wis noticed the milk wis gane.
They fairly tyauved and sweitit for tae get the hey cut! But their trauchle wis rewairdit, sin the hairst wis e’en mair rowthie as they haed howpit for.
The darg wis haurd whiles; the gibble haed been designed for human beins and no for bease, and it wis a gey back-draw that nae craitur wis able tae uise ony gibblet that meant staundin on his hint legs. But the pigs wis that gleg they could think o a wey roond aa dífficulties. As tae the horse, they kent ivery inch o the field, and in fact unnerstuid the haundlin o mawin and rakin a hantle better as Cameron and his men haed iver duin. The pigs didna actually wirk, but guidit and owersaw the lave. Wi their superior knawledge it wis natural they should be the leaders. Boxer and Claver wad harness theirsels tae the cutter or the horse-rake (nae bits or reins wis needit thir days, o coorse) and stramp steidy roond and roond the field wi a pig walkin ahint them and cryin oot the like o ‘Hup, feres!’ or ‘Weesh aff, feres!’ And ivery animal doun tae the maist hummle wrocht at the turnin and ingaitherin o the hey. E’en the deuks and hens tyauved back and fore aa day in the sun, cairyin wee taits o hey in their nebs. In the end they fínisht the hairst twa days quicker as it haed for ordinar taen Cameron and his men. Mairower it wis the maist rowthie crap the ferm haed iver seen. The’ war nae wastage ava; the gleg-ee’d hens and deuks haed ingaithert the very last pile. And nae craitur on the ferm haed stealt as muckle as a moothfu.
Aa throu that simmer the wark o the ferm gaed like clockwark. The bease wis mair blythe as they could iver hae spaed. Ilka moothfu o fuid wis an unco pleisur, nou that the scran wis e’en their ain, produced by theirsels for theirsels, no daled oot tae them by a grudgin maister. Wi the nochtless, sorny human beins gane, the’ war mair for aabody tae eat. The’ war mair easedom tae, that the bease wisna uised wi. They met wi mony dífficulties — for an instance, later in the year, at the hairstin, they haed tae tread oot the corn the auld-farrant wey and blaw awa the caff wi their breith, sin the ferm haed nae thrashin machine — but the pigs wi their shairp wit and Boxer wi his tremendous strenth aye poued them throu. Boxer wis hauden in great admiration by aabody. He haed been a haurd darger e’en in Cameron’s time, but nou he wis mair like three horse as ane; the’ war days whan it seemed like the hale o the wark o the ferm restit upo his michty shouders. Frae mornin till nicht he wis pushin and pullin, aye at the bit whaur the wark wis haurdest. He haed arranged wi ane o the chicken-cocks tae cry him in the mornins a hauf oor afore onybody else, and wad pit in some volunteer labour at whativer needit daein maist, afore the regular day’s darg begoud. His answer tae ivery kinch and castback wis ‘I will wirk haurder!’ — whilk he haed taen on as his ain slogan.
But aabody wrocht confeerin til his docht. The hens and deuks, for an instance, haint three firlots o aits at the hairstin by ingaitherin orra grains. Naebody stealt, naebody yammert ower his rations, the flytin and chackin and jealousy that haed been ilkaday featurs o life in the auld days haed aamaist devauled. Naebody skived — or maist naebody. Mollie, it wis true, wisna guid at gettin up in the mornins, and haed a wey o leavin wark early on the grunds the’ war a stane in her huif. And the behaviour o the cat wis a bittie queer. The bease suin noticed that whan the’ wis wark tae be duin the cat could niver be fund. She wad vainish for oors on end, and syne kythe again whan it wis time for them tae tak their scran, or in the forenicht efter they haed aa lowsed frae wark, like naething haed happent. But her excuisses wis aye that gallus, and she thrummed sae cadgy-like, that ye couldna help but trew in her guid intents. Auld Benjamin, the cuddie, didna seem tae hiv chynged ava sin the Rebellion. He dargit in the same slaw, thrawn wey as he haed aye duin in Cameron’s time, niver skivin and niver pittin hissel forrit for extra wark aither. He wad gie nae opinion anent the Rebellion and the affcome o it. Whan speirt whither he wisna mair happy nou that Cameron wis gane, he wad juist say ‘Cuddies lives a lang time. Nane o yese haes iver seen a deid cuddie,’ and the ithers haed tae mak dae wi this sklentie answer.
On the Sabbath the’ war nae wark. Brakfast wis an oor later nor uisual, and efter brakfast the’ war a ceremony that wis observed ilka ouk ithoot fail. First cam the heezin o the flag. Snawba haed fund in the harness-room an auld green table-claith that belanged Mrs Cameron and haed pentit on it a huif and a horn in white. This wis ran up the flag-pole in the fermhoose gairden ilka Sunday mornin. The flag wis green, Snawba exponed, tae represent the green fields o Britain, while the huif and horn proportit the futur Republic o the Bease that wad arise whan the human race haed at lang and last been dinged doun. Efter the heezin o the flag aa the bease troupit intae the muckle barn for a general assemmly that wis kent as the Gaitherin. Here the wark o the ouk tae come wis planned oot and resolutions wis pitten forrit and communed. It wis aye the pigs that pat forrit the resolutions. The ither bease unnerstuid hou tae vote, but could niver think on ony resolutions o their ain. Snawba and Napoleon wis by faur the maist active in the communins. But it wis noticed that thir twa wis niver in greement: whativer suggestion aither o them made, ye could be shuir the ither wad be agin it. E’en whan it wis redd up — a thing naebody could object til in itsel — tae pit by a parrock ahint the orchart as a hame o rest for bease that wis past wirkin, the’ war a collieshangie ower the correct retíral age for ilka cless o animal. The Gaitherin aye fínisht wi the singin o ‘Bease o Britain’, and the efternuin wis gien up tae recreation.
The pigs haed pitten by the harness-room as a heidquarters for theirsels. Here, in the forenichts, they studied blacksmithin, jynin and ither necessar skeels frae beuks they haed brung oot o the fermhoose. Snawba set tae guidin the ither bease intae what he caa’d Animal Comatees. He wis sair onstaundin at this. He pat thegither the Egg Production Comatee for the hens, the Clean Tails League for the kye, the Ragglish Feres Re-education Comatee (the object o this wis tae tame the rattons and rabbits), the Whiter Oo Muivement for the sheep, and various ithers, forby estaiblishin clesses in readin and writin. Near aa thir projects failt. The mint made tae tame the wild craiturs, for an instance, foondert aamaist strecht. They held on behavin e’en as they haed been afore, and teuk a len o the pigs whan the pigs wis furthie tae them. The cat jyned the Re-education Comatee and wis gey active in it for a guid wheen days. Ae day she wis seen sittin on a ruif speakin tae some sparrae that wis juist oot o her rax. She wis tellin them that aa bease wis nou feres and that ony sparrae that waled could come and perch on her paw; but the sparraes keepit weel awa frae her.
The readin and writin clesses, houiver, wis a bonnie success. By the autumn maist ivery craitur on the ferm wis some pairt líterate.
As tae the pigs, they could aaready read and write brawly. The dugs learnt tae read weel eneuch, but haed nae interest in readin ocht binna the Seiven Commaunds. Muriel, the gait, could read somewhat better as the dugs, and whiles wad read tae the lave in the forenichts frae orrals o newspaper she fund on the midden. Benjamin could read as weel as ony pig, but niver uised his skeel. Insaemuckle as he kent, he said, the’ war nocht wirth readin. Claver learnt the ah-bay-say, but couldna pit wirds thegither. Boxer couldna win ayont the letter D. He wad scart oot A, B, C, D in the stour wi his big huif, and syne wad staund gawkin at the letters wi his lugs back, shakkin his dosan whiles, ettlin wi aa his maucht tae mind what cam neist and niver winnin throu. Several times he did in fact learn E, F, G, H, but by the time he kent them it turnt oot he haed forgotten A, B, C and D. At the hinder end he decidit tae be content wi the first fower letters, and wad write them oot ance or twice ilka day sae as tae mind hissel. Mollie wisna for learnin ony letter binna the five that spelt her ain name. She wad form thir letters gey trigly oot o bits o twig, and wad syne decore them wi a flouer or twa and walk roond them admirin them.
Nane o the ither bease on the ferm could win faurer as the letter A. Forby, it turnt oot the mair dawpit craiturs, sic as the sheep, hens and deuks, wis no able tae learn the Seiven Commaunds. Efter a guid bit thocht Snawba declared that the Seiven Commaunds could be stellt less or mair intae the ae maxim: ‘Fower legs guid, twa legs bad’. This, he said, got tae the hert o what Animalism wis. Them that haed a thora claucht o it wad be siccar frae human moyen. The birds wisna haein it at first, speirin whither they didna hae twa legs an-aa? Snawba, houiver, pruived tae them this wisna the case.
‘A bird’s wíngs, feres,’ he says, ‘is a beuch uised tae propel the bird forrit and no for ill-wysin. It should therefore be regairdit as a leg. The kenmark o Man is the haund, the instrument he uises tae cairy oot aa his cantrips.’
The birds didna unnerstaund Snawba’s fantoush wirds, but they acceptit his explanation, and aa the mair hummle bease yokit tae learnin the new maxim perqueir. FOWER LEGS GUID, TWA LEGS BAD, wis inscrived on the end waa o the barn, abuin the Seiven Commaunds and in bigger letters. Whan they haed gotten it by hert the sheep cam tae fair like this maxim, and aften as they laid in the field they wad aa stert bleatin ‘Fower legs guid, twa legs bad! Fower legs guid, twa legs bad!’ and keep it up for oors on end, niver scunnerin theirsels o it.
Napoleon teuk nae interest in Snawba’s comatees. He said the education o the young bease wis mair important as onything that could be duin for them that wis aaready growen up. It happent that Jessie and Bluebell haed baith whapit suin efter the hey hairstin. Atween them they gied birth tae nine stieve puppies. As suin as they war speaned Napoleon teuk them awa frae their mithers, sayin he wad mak hissel responsible for their education. He teuk them up intil a laft that could be raxed nae wey but by a ledder frae the harness-room, and there keepit them sae coukit the lave o the ferm forgot aa aboot them.
The mystery o whaur the milk gaed tae wis suin redd up. Ilka day it wis mixt intae the pigs’ champ. The early aipples wis nou turnin maumie and the’ war a rowth o them on the grund o the orchart. The bease haed nae reason tae dout they wad aa be aucht their fair skair o them; ae day, houiver, the order gaed furth that aa the faa’n aipples wis tae be collectit and brung tae the harness-room for the uiss o the pigs. At this a wheen bease channert, but it wis nae uiss. Aa the pigs wis in full greement anent the maiter, e’en Snawba and Napoleon. Squaiker wis sent tae mak the necessar explanations tae the ithers.
‘My feres!’ he cries oot. ‘Ye dinna imagine, I howp, that we pigs is daein this in a spirit o selliness and privilege. Mony o us actually taks a scunner at milk and aipples. I mysel dinna like them. Wir ae object in takkin thir things is for tae haud heal. Milk and aipples (this haes been pruiven by Science, feres) haes intil them substances that’s necessar for the weel o a pig. We pigs is harnwirkers. The hale guideship o this ferm lippens on us. Nicht and day we ar takkin tent o your weelfare. It’s for your sake that we drink thon milk and eat thae aipples. Dae ye ken what wad happen gin we pigs failt i’ wir duty? Cameron wad come back! Ay, Cameron wad come back! Shuirly, feres,’ Squaiker cries oot, aamaist priggin wi them, liltin frae side tae side and wheechin his tail, ‘shuirly the’r nane amang ye ’at wants tae see Cameron come back?’
Nou if the’ war ae thing the bease wis haley certaint o, it wis that they didna want Cameron back. Whan it wis pitten tae them in this wey, they haed nae mair tae say. The importance o keepin the pigs in guid halth wis gey and obvious. Sae they gree’d ithoot ony mair argument that the milk and the faa’n aipples (as weel as the main hairvest o aipples whan they war maumie) should be pitten by for the pigs alane.