the greedy fellow poured the whole of the magic fluid over his head!
The Barber rushed out in dismay. Horrors!!! From the King's head a mass of hair shot into the air, jerking him from his feet. In a trice it had reached the treetops. Still it kept growing. It swept over the tops of the trees like a heavy cloud, and swirled down on all sides, closing the forest in darkest night. Still it kept growing. It twined and twirled around the wicked Barber, and round and round the wicked King, choking them to death. And still it kept growing, until the forest was a dense and impenetrable tangle into which no man has set foot from that day to this.
But in a year or more, when his hair had grown again, and all the heads in the kingdom were decently covered, the King Sambrun rode away into the Southland, and brought back the most gorgeous Princess. Together they ruled wisely and well, and bald heads were as rare as huckleberries in December. And that is the end of the story.
