This made the Kyrkegrim very angry, for he did not wish to give up his place, and yet a Niss may not break his word.
"Let us look at the punishment of Pharaoh," he cried. But the farmer's eyes were still closed and the Kyrkegrim became agitated, and turned hastily over the leaves of the iron-clamped Bible before him.
"We will speak of the plagues," said he. "The plague of blood, the plague of frogs, the plague of lice, the plague of flies--"
At this moment the farmer snored.
For a brief instant, anger and dismay kept the Kyrkegrim silent. Then shutting the iron clamps he pushed the Book on one side, and scrambling on to a stool, stretched his little body well over the desk, and said, "But these flies were as nothing to the fly that is coming in the turnip-crop!"
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the farmer sat suddenly upright, and half rising from his place, cried anxiously, "Eh, what sir? What does he say, wife? A new fly among the turnips?"
"Ah, soul of clay!" yelled the indignant Kyrkegrim, as he hurled his round hat at the gaping farmer. "Is it indeed for such as thee that Eternal Life is kept in store?"
And drawing the preacher's gown over his head, he left it in the pulpit, and scrambling down the steps hastened out of church.
As he had been successful in rousing the sleepy farmer the Kyrkegrim did not abandon his duties; but it is said that thenceforward he kept to them alone, and left heavier responsibilities in higher hands.