the sun was down, Ranier came to the court-yard, and raising his ax
with the blade upward, he said aloud: "Ax! ax! hammer! hammer! and build
for my profit!" The ax at once leapt forward with the hammer part
downward, and began cracking the solid rock on which the court-yard lay,
and shaping it into oblong blocks, and heaping them one on the other. So
much noise was made thereby that the warders first, and then the whole
court, came out to ascertain the cause. Even the king himself was drawn
to the spot. And it seemed to them, all through the magic of the fairy,
that there were hundreds on hundreds of workmen in green cloth hose and
red leather jerkins, some engaged in quarrying and shaping, and others
in laying the blocks, and others in keying arches, and adjusting doors
and windows, and making oriels and towers and turrets. And still as they
looked, the building arose foot by foot, and before dawn a great stone
castle, with its towers and battlements, its portcullis, and its great
gate, forty cubits high, stood in the court-yard.

When King Dagobert saw this, he embraced Ranier, continued to him the
title of his father, whose ducal estates he restored to the son, and
sending for the Princess Isaure, who appeared radiant with joy and
beauty, he betrothed the young couple in the presence of the court.

So Ranier and Isaure were married, and lived long and happily; and, on
the death of Dagobert, Ranier reigned. As for the ax, that is lost,
somehow, and although I have made diligent inquiry, I have never been
able to find where it is. Some people think the fairy took it after King
Ranier died, and hid it again in a tree; and I recommend all
wood-choppers to look at the heart of every tree they fell, for this
wonderful ax. They cannot mistake it, since the word "Boldness" is cut
on the blade, and the word "Energy" is printed, in letters of gold, on
the handle.

THE PAINTER'S SCARE-CROW.

BY C.P. CRANCH.

Miss Arabella Vandyke Brown
Had a small studio in the town,
Where, all the winter, blithe and gay,
She drew and painted day by day.
She envied not the rich. Her art
And work made sunshine in her heart.
Upon her canvas, many a scene
Of summers past, in golden green
Was wrought again. The snow and rain
Pelted upon her window-pane;
But she within her cozy room
With joyous toil dispelled the gloom;
And, sometimes, in an undertone,
Sang to herself there, all alone.

But, when th