Gradually, as the years passed, things looked worse and worse for the wood. The heath spread farther and farther, until it reached the other end of the wood. The great trees died and toppled down as soon as the storm took a fair hold of them: then they lay and rotted and the heather grew over them. There were now only half a score of the oldest and strongest trees left; but they were altogether hollow and had quite thin tops.  
"My time is over, I must die," said the wood.
 
"Well, I told you so beforehand," replied the heath.
 
But then the men and women began to grow very frightened at the way the heather was using the wood:
 
"Where am I to get for my workshop?" cried the joiner.
 
"Where am I to get sticks to put under my pot?" screamed the goodwife.
 
"Where, oh where, are we to get fuel in the winter?" sighed the old man.
 
"Where am I to with my sweetheart in the spring?" asked the young one.
 
Then, when they had looked at the poor old trees for a bit, to see if there was anything to be done with them, they took their spades and mattocks and ran up the hills to where the heath began.
 
"You may as well save yourselves the trouble," said the heath. "I am not to be dug into."
 
", no!" sighed the w............