The Firebird and Other Russian Fairy Tales by Arthur Ransome

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.
    â€œWhy,” 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.
    â€œAh 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.”
    â€œPluck 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.
    â€œWhy,” says Tree-rooter, “here are enough trees to last me for another thousand years. Thank you kindly, little Prince.”
    And he set to work again, pulling up the big trees, laughing joyfully and hurling them over his head, while little Prince Ivan galloped on across the wide world.
    He came to the two old women. They were crying their eyes out.
    â€œThere is only one needle left!” says the first.
    â€œThere is only one bit of thread in the box!” sobs the second.
    â€œAnd then we shall die!” they say both together, mumbling with their old mouths.
    â€œBefore you use the needle and thread, just eat these apples,” says little Prince Ivan, and he gives them the two apples of youth.
    The two old women took the apples in their old shaking fingers and ate them, bent double, mumbling with their old lips. They had hardly finished their last mouthfuls when they sat up straight, smiled with sweet red lips, and looked at the little Prince with shining eyes. They had become young girls again, and their gray hair was black as the raven.
    â€œThank you kindly, little Prince,” say the two young girls. “You must take with you the handkerchief we have been sewing all these years. Throw it to the ground, and it will turn into a lake of water. Perhaps some day it will be useful to you.”
    â€œThank you,” says the little Prince, and off he gallops, on and on over the wide world.
    He came at last to his father’s palace. The roof was gone, and there were holes in the walls. He left his horse at the edge of the garden, and crept up to the ruined palace and peeped through a hole. Inside, in the great hall, was sitting a huge baby girl, filling the whole hall. There was no room for her to move. She had knocked off the roof with a shake of her head. And she sat there in the ruined hall, sucking her thumb.
    And while Prince Ivan was watching through the hole he heard her mutter to herself,—
    â€œEaten the father, eaten the mother,
And now to eat the little brother.”
    And she began shrinking, getting smaller and smaller every minute.
    Little Prince Ivan had only just time to get away from the hole in the wall when a pretty little baby girl came running out of the ruined palace.
    â€œYou must be my little brother Ivan,” she called out to him, and came up to him smiling. But as she smiled the little Prince saw that her teeth were black; and as she shut her mouth he heard them clink together like pokers.
    â€œCome in,” says she, and she took little Prince Ivan with her to a room in the palace, all broken down and cobwebbed. There was a dulcimer lying in the dust on the floor.
    â€œWell, little brother,” says the witch baby, “you play on the dulcimer and amuse yourself while I get supper ready. But don’t stop playing, or I shall feel lonely.” And she ran off and left him.
    Little