Then he woke the pigs and said to the boar, very respectfully, “Would you be good enough to follow me, sir?” At the gate he said, “Be kind enough to put your head under here, sir, and give a heave.” And, as the sows watched, the General put his great head in the hole and gave an almighty heave. Up came the gate, right off its hinges at one end, while at the other end, the bolt bent and the padlock snapped. Then down crashed the whole thing and away down the road went the sows, marching behind their master. Before long, there were grumblings of discontent in the ranks. “I’m tired” and “My feet hurt” and “I’m starving hungry” and “I’ve had about enough of this,” the sows complained, and finally the fattest of them, Mrs. Roly-Poly, simply lay down in the road. Firingclose General Lord Nicholas of Winningshot heard the patter of hoofs cease behind him and turned to see that all the sows had stopped. “What is this?” he grunted. “Is this mutiny?” “Don’t know what the place is called, General,”
