Now the lamp was filled with whale-oil. In it wicks of moss and twisted grass had been burned. With time and many wicks the oil had become as black as soot.
The raven looked at the black, sooty oil and then at his new white coat. He really stood still for as much as two minutes.
Just as the owl was trying to decide whether or not the coat should be longer, to cover the tops of the new boots, the raven caught sight of his own reflection in the clear water below.
So pleased was he with his appearance that he flapped his wings, and jumped up and down.
The loose white feathers flew in every direction. The pin-feathers dropped to the ground. The angry owl gasped for breath.
Then in a rage she seized the lamp. She flung it at the raven. Alas, for the poor fellow! The oil struck him full on the head. It ran down before. It ran down behind! There was not a dry feather on him!
"Quag! Quag!" croaked he, the oil dripping down on all sides. "Quag! Quag! I shall never speak to you again!"
"No," cried the owl. "Do not speak to me again. I would not have such a sooty friend as you!" and she flew far away.
[1] Adapted from Ethnological Bureau Report.