without it," said Peik.

"Well, what do you want for it?"

It was well worth three hundred dollars; but for the King's sake it
should go for two. So the King got the block and traveled home with it.
He bade guests again, made a feast, and set the pot on the
chopping-block in the middle of the room. The guests thought he was both
daft and mad, and they went about making game of him, while he cackled
and chattered around the pot, calling out, "Bide a bit! Now it boils,
now it boils in a trice."

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.