But Peik was ready for him. He had filled a leather bag with blood and
stuffed it into his sister's bosom, and told her what to say and do.
"Where's Peik?" screamed out the King. He was in such a rage that he
stuttered and stammered.
"He is so poorly that he can't stir hand or foot," she said, "and now
he's trying to get a nap."
"Wake him up!" said the King.
"Nay, I daren't, he will be so angry," said the sister.
"Well, I am angrier still," said the King, "and if you don't wake him, I
will," and with that he tapped his side where his knife hung.
"Well, she would go and wake him," but Peik turned hastily in his bed,
drew out a knife and ripped open the leather bag in her bosom, so that
the blood gushed out, and down she fell on the floor as though she were
dead.
"What an awful fellow you are, Peik," said the King; "you have killed
your sister right before my eyes!"
"Oh, there's no trouble with her so long as there's breath in my
nostrils," said Peik, and with that he pulled out a ram's horn and began
to toot on it.
"Toot-e-too-too," he blew, with one end of the horn to her body, and up
she rose as though there was nothing the matter with her.
"Dear me, Peik! Can you kill folk and blow life into them again? Can you
do that?" said the King.
"Why!" said Peik, "how could I get on at all if I couldn't? I am always
killing every one I come near; don't you know I have a terrible temper?"
"I am hot-tempered, too," said the King, "and that horn I must have.
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