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So little Prince Ivan told the little sister of the Sun how his sister was a witch, and how he wept to think of his father and mother, and how he had seen the ruins of his father’s palace far away, and how he could not stay with hen happily until he knew how it was with his parents.

“Perhaps it is not yet too late to save them from her iron teeth, though the old groom said that she would certainly eat them, and that it was the will of God. But let me ride back on my big black horse.”

“Do not leave me, my dear,” says the Sun’s little sister. “I am lonely here by myself.”

“I will ride back on my big black horse, and then I will come to you again.”

“What must be, must,” says the Sun’s little sister; “though she is more likely to eat you than you are to save them. You shall go. But you must take with you a magic comb, a magic brush, and two apples of youth. These apples would make young once more the oldest things on earth.”

Then she kissed little Prince Ivan, and he climbed up on his big black horse, and leapt out of the window of the castle down on the end of the world, and galloped off on his way back over the wide world.

He came to Mountain-tosser, the giant. There was only one mountain left, and the giant was just picking it up. Sadly he was picking it 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.”

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.

“There is only one needle left!” says the first.

“There is only one bit of thread in the box!” sobs the second.

“And then we shall die!” they say both together, mumbling with their old mouths.

“Before 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.