Still higher and higher rose the water till they were again threatened in their new places of refuge, and it soon became evident that something had to be done, and that quickly.
There was but one passage-way through which the water was not pouring like that of a swift mill-race, and this was the one in which the Brownies had been trapped.
As the water ascended they were forced into it, and they continued on through it well knowing from bitter experience that the huge boulder effectually blocked the exit, and would hold them powerless until finally they were submerged by the relentless flood.
But still they went on, hoping against hope, until they came to the boulder. It was still in place, and though they exerted all their strength in trying to remove it they could not budge it to even the extent of a millionth of an inch.
Brownies used sticks as levers, and the demons employed brute force, but all their efforts proved in vain.
“It’s no use,” at last said King Stanislaus, wiping his perspiring brow. “It looks as though this would be the end.”
A sudden thought entered Florimel’s head—a wild, foolish thought perhaps, but not any more so than when he had aimed his magic arrow at the crescent moon.
“Stand back, all of you!” he shouted.
He took one of the four arrows that were in the quiver, and placed it in the bow. Then he aimed it at the rock, and pulled the cord, making no particular attempt at a display of strength which he realized fully could not accomplish his purpose.