The little axe chopped and cut and split, this way and that, right and left, up and down. It moved so fast that nobody could keep track of it, and there was no time for new twigs to grow.
In fifteen seconds the great oak-tree was cut in pieces and piled up in the King's courtyard, ready for firewood in the winter.
"What do you think of that?" asked Jack, as he bowed again to the King.
"You have done wonders, my little man," said the King. "But the well must be dug or I shall take off your ears."
"Kindly tell me where you would like to have the well," said Jack, bowing again.
A place in the courtyard was pointed out. The King sat in his great chair on a balcony above, and by him sat his beautiful daughter, the Princess. They wanted to see the little fellow dig.
Jack took the pickaxe from his other pocket. He set it down on the spot that had been pointed out.
"Now, Mr Pickaxe, dig! dig!" he cried.
You should have seen how the rocks flew.