This was not very good poetry, but when the king had spelled it out in the moonlight he was filled with joy.

“There’s no doubt about my being in trouble,” he exclaimed; “so I’ll burn it at once, and see what happens.”

He tore off the leaf and put the rest of the book in its secret hiding place.  Then, folding the paper double, he placed it on the top of his stool, lighted a match and set fire to it.

It made a horrid smudge for so small a paper, and the king sat on the edge of the bed and watched it eagerly.

When the smoke cleared away he was surprised to see, sitting upon the stool, a round little man, who, with folded arms and crossed legs, sat calmly facing the king and smoking a black briarwood pipe.

“Well, here I am,” said he.

“So I see,” replied the little king.  “But how did you get here?”

“Didn’t you burn the paper?” demanded the round man, by way of answer.

“Yes, I did,” acknowledged the king.

“Then you are in trouble, and I’ve come to help you out of it.  I’m the Slave of the Royal Bedstead.”

“Oh!” said the king.  “I didn’t know there was one.”

“Neither did your father, or he would not have been so foolish as to sell everything he had for money.  By the way, it’s lucky for you he did not sell this bedstead.  Now, then, what do you want?”

“I’m not sure what I want,” replied the king; “but I know what I don’t want, and that is the old woman who is going to marry me.”

“That’s easy enough,” said the Slave of the Royal Bedstead.  “All you need do is to return her the money she paid the chief counselor and declare the match off.  Don’t be afraid.  You are the king, and your word is law.”

“To be sure,” said the majesty.  “But I am in great need of money.  How am I going to live if the chief counselor returns to Mary Ann Brodjinski her millions?”

“Phoo! that’s easy enough,” again answered the man, and, putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out and tossed to the king an old-fashioned leather purse.  “Keep that with you,” said he, “and you will always be rich, for you can take out of the purse as many twenty-five-cent silver pieces as you wish, one at a time.  No matter how often you take one out, another will instantly appear in its place within the purse.”

“Thank you,” said the king, gratefully.  “You have rendered me a rare favor; for now I shall have money for all my needs and will not be obliged to marry anyone.  Thank you a thousand times!”

“Don’t mention it,” answered the other, puffing his pipe slowly and watching the smoke curl into the moonlight.  “Such things are easy to me.  Is that all you want?”

“All I can think of just now,” returned the king.

“Then, please close that secret panel in the bedstead,” said the man; “the other leaves of the book may be of use to you some time.”

The boy stood upon the bed as before and, reaching up, closed the opening so that no one else could discover it.  Then he turned to face his visitor, but the Slave of the Royal Bedstead had disappeared.