remained, deep down in the soft mass of black fibres and water.
But further than this, change could not possibly go; so it must endure, and here, at any rate, men would have to stint their meddling.
The old bird held himself erect. The farms lay so far away that he felt securely at home, here in the middle of the bottomless morass. One relic, at least, of antiquity must remain undisturbed. He smoothed his glossy black feathers, and said several times, "Bonjour, madame!"
But down from the nearest farm came a couple of men with a horse and cart; two small boys ran behind. They took a crooked course among the hummocks, but made as though to cross the morass.
"They must soon stop," thought the raven.
But they drew nearer and nearer; the old bird turned his head uneasily from side to side; it was strange that they should venture so far out.
At last they stopped, and the men set to work with spades and axes. The raven could see that they were struggling with a huge root which they wanted to loosen.
"They will soon tire of that," thought the raven.
But they did not tire; they hacked with their axes—the sharpest the raven had ever seen—they dug and hauled, and at last they actually got the huge stem turned over on its side, so that the whole tough net-work of roots stood straight up in the air.
