efully in his knapsack with the Magic Axe and the Magic Pickaxe.

After some little time he came to a king's palace. Now, although it was
a magnificent palace, everyone living there was perfectly miserable, for
one morning, without the least warning, an immense oak had sprung up,
with leaves and branches so thick that they shut out the sun from all
the windows, making the castle as dark as night.

Of course in those days there was no gas and electricity, and although
the king had commanded that candles be made as high as barber poles,
they spluttered and often went out when the wind blew.

All the woodcutters in the kingdom had tried to cut down this tree, but
its bark was so tough that it turned the edge of every axe, and for
every branch that was lopped off, two instantly grew in its place. At
last the king had offered three bags of gold to anyone who would rid him
of his troublesome oaktree.

Now this was not the only trouble that beset the poor king. For,
although the surrounding country was rich in springs and brooks, the
royal gardens were dry as the desert of Sahara. And although the king
had also promised three bags of gold to anyone who would dig a well, no
one had yet been able to dig deeper than a foot, as the palace was built
on a rock of solid granite.

Each day the king grew more angry, but of course that did no good. At
last calling the poet laureate of his kingdom, he asked him what should
be done.

Running his fingers through his long curly hair, the poet thought a
while. Then summoning the Royal Carpenter, ordered him to make an
immense placard, on which, when finished, this wise poet printed:

"To him who cuts my oaktree down
I'll give three bags of gold
But he who fails shall lose his life
And lie beneath the mold."

"But what good will that exquisite poem do?" asked the king,
sarcastically.

"It will keep your Royal Highness from being irritated by this endless
sound of chop, chop, chop," replied the poet. "I verily believe every
man in your kingdom has had a hack at the tree. Now, he who reads this
sign, will first make sure his axe is a good one. And my poetic ears
will be spared much of this frightful noise which is far worse than a
steel rivetter at work on a ninety story building in New York City."
Which shows that this poet had an eye that could see into the future,
for at that time, as far as I know, Columbus hadn't even asked the Queen