As they saw that the poor Prince was about to be vanquished, they all
began a great lamentation, and cried out bitterly.

"He saved my harvest," cried one. "He found my lamb," cried another. "He
showed me a greater kindness still," shouted a third. And so they went
on, each telling of some unselfish service that the Prince had rendered
him. Their voices all joined at last into such a roar of gratitude that
the scissors were given fresh strength on account of it. They grew
longer and longer, and stronger and stronger, until with one great swoop
they sprang forward and cut the ugly old Ogre's head from his shoulders.

Every cap was thrown up, and such cheering rent the air as has never
been heard since. They did not know his name, they did not know that he
was Prince Ethelried, but they knew by his valor that there was royal
blood in his veins. So they all cried out long and loud: "_Long live the
Prince! Prince Ciseaux!_"

Then the King stepped down from his throne and took off his crown to
give to the conqueror, but Ethelried put it aside.

"Nay," he said. "The only kingdom that I crave is the kingdom of a
loving heart and a happy fireside. Keep all but the Princess."

So the Ogre was killed, and the Prince came into his kingdom that was
his heart's desire. He married the Princess, and there was feasting and
merrymaking for seventy days and seventy nights, and they all lived
happily ever after.

When the feasting was over, and the guests had all gone to their homes,