BY THE late summer the news of what had happened on Animal Farm had spread across half the
county. Every day Snowball and Napoleon sent out flights of pigeons whose instructions were to
mingle with the animals on neighbouring farms, tell them the story of the Rebellion, and teach them
the tune of Beasts of England.
Most of this time Mr. Jones had spent sitting in the taproom of the Red Lion at Willingdon,
complaining to anyone who would listen of the monstrous injustice he had suffered in being turned
out of his property by a pack of good−for−nothing animals. The other farmers sympathised in
principle, but they did not at first give him much help. At heart, each of them was secretly wondering
whether he could not somehow turn Jones's misfortune to his own advantage. It was lucky that the
owners of the two farms which adjoined Animal Farm were on permanently bad terms. One of them,
which was named Foxwood, was a large, neglected, old−fashioned farm, much overgrown by
woodland, with all its pastures worn out and its hedges in a disgraceful condition. Its owner, Mr.
Pilkington, was an easy−going gentleman farmer who spent most of his time in fishing or hunting
according to the season. The other farm, which was called Pinchfield, was smaller and better kept. Its
owner was a Mr. Frederick, a tough, shrewd man, perpetually involved in lawsuits and with a name
for driving hard bargains. These two disliked each other so much that it was difficult for them to
come to any agreement, even in defence of their own interests.
Nevertheless, they were both thoroughly frightened by the rebellion on Animal Farm, and very
anxious to prevent their own animals from learning too much about it. At first they pretended to
laugh to scorn the idea of animals managing a farm for themselves. The whole thing would be over in
a fortnight, they said. They put it about that the animals on the Manor Farm (they insisted on calling
it the Manor Farm; they would not tolerate the name "Animal Farm") were perpetually fighting
among themselves and were also rapidly starving to death. When time passed and the animals had
evidently not starved to death, Frederick and Pilkington changed their tune and began to talk of the
terrible wickedness that now flourished on Animal Farm. It was given out that the animals there
practised cannibalism, tortured one another with red−hot horseshoes, and had their females in
common. This was what came of rebelling against the laws of Nature, Frederick and Pilkington said.
However, these stories were never fully believed. Rumours of a wonderful farm, where the human
beings had been turned out and the animals managed their own affairs, continued to circulate in
vague and distorted forms, and throughout that year a wave of rebelliousness ran through the
countryside. Bulls which had always been tractable suddenly turned savage, sheep broke down
hedges and devoured the clover, cows kicked the pail over, hunters refused their fences and shot their
