The poor king slept but little that night, so filled was he with terror of his future wife. Nor could he get the idea out of his head that he preferred to marry the armorer’s daughter, who was about his own age. He tossed and tumbled around upon his hard bed until the moonlight came in at the window and lay like a great white sheet upon the bare floor. Finally, in turning over for the hundredth time, his hand struck against a secret spring in the headboard of the big mahogany bedstead, and at once, with a sharp click, a panel flew open. The noise caused the king to look up, and, seeing the open panel, he stood upon tiptoe, and, reaching within, drew out a folded paper. It had several leaves fastened together like a book, and upon the first page was written: “When the king is in trouble This leaf he must double And set it on fire To obtain his desire.” 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?”