up, for he knew that when he had thrown it away his work would be done
and he would have to die.

"Well, little Prince Ivan," says Mountain-tosser, "this is the end;"
and he heaves up the mountain. But before he could toss it away the
little Prince threw his magic brush on the plain, and the brush
swelled and burst, and there were range upon range of high mountains,
touching the sky itself.

"Why," says Mountain-tosser, "I have enough mountains now to last me
for another thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince."

And he set to work again, heaving up mountains and tossing them down,
while little Prince Ivan galloped on across the wide world.

He came to Tree-rooter, the giant. There were only two of the great
oaks left, and the giant had one in each hand.

"Ah me, little Prince Ivan," says Tree-rooter, "my life is come to
its end; for I have only to pluck up these two trees and throw them
down, and then I shall die."

"Pluck them up," says little Prince Ivan. "Here are plenty more for
you." And he threw down his comb. There was a noise of spreading
branches, of swishing leaves, of opening buds, all together, and there
before them was a forest of great oaks stretching farther than the
giant could see, tall though he was.

"Why," says Tree-rooter, "here are enough trees to last me for another
thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince."