Each of the monarchs of the forest had been turned to stone.
There was something appalling in those great stone statues.
How many ages had they stood there?
What action of nature had changed them from living, sap-flowing trees into blocks of granite, having only the appearance of their former reality?
Ibrahim was scared.
His face lost its color, and he prostrated himself on the ground.
“Come along, old fellow,” said Max. “You are not afraid of these big stones, are you?”
Ibrahim did not answer.
He was awe-stricken.
“Get up, Ib,” exclaimed Max, shortening his companion’s name very materially.