But it wouldn't boil a bit more on the block than on the bare floor. So he saw that Peik had been out with his fooling rods this time, too. Then he fell a-tearing his hair, and said he would set off at once and slay the lad. He wouldn't spare him this time, whether or no.
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.