the soldiers have been in the town; for the King and
the Princess thought that it would be a fine thing to have the bottle
for themselves.

When the next morning had come, and they were all sitting at their
breakfast together, the King said, "Now, Lord Peter, let us see what
your bottle will do; give us such and such a kind of wine."

"Nothing easier," said Peter. Then he uncorked the bottle, but not so
much as a single dead fly came out of it.

"But where is the wine?" said the King.

"I do not know," said Peter.

At this the King called him hard names and turned him out of the
palace, neck and heels; so back poor Peter went to his mother with a
flea in his ear, as the saying is. Now he was poor again, and everybody
called him a dull block, for he rode no great white horse and he wore
wooden shoes.

"Never mind," said his mother, "here is another basket of eggs from the
speckled hen." So Peter set off with these to the market town, as he had
done with the others before. When he had come to the great stone at the
forking of the road, whom should he meet but the same little gentleman
he had met the first time. "Will you strike a bargain?" said he. Yes,
Peter would strike a bargain, and gladly. Thereupon the little old man
brought out another black bottle.

"Two men are in this bottle," said the little old man; "when they have
done all that you want them to do, say 'brikket-ligg' and they will go
back again. Will you trade with me?" Yes, Peter would trade. So Peter
gave the little man the eggs, and the little man gave Peter the second
bottle, and they parted very good friends.

After a while Peter grew tired. "Now," said he to himself, "I will ride
a little"; and so he drew the cork out of the bottle. Pop! pop! out came
two men from the bottle; but this time they were ugly and black, and
each held a stout stick in his hand. They said not a word, but, without
more ado, fell upon Peter and began threshing him as though he was wheat
on the barn floor. "Stop! stop!" cried Peter, and he went hopping and
skipping up and down, and here and there, but it seemed as though the
two ugly black men did not hear him, for the blows fell as thick as
hail on the roof. At last he gathered his wits together, like a flock of
pigeons, and cried, "Brikket-ligg! brikket-ligg!" Then, whisk! pop! they
went back into the bottle again, and Peter corked it up, and corked it
tightly, I can tell you.

[Illustration: Clever Peter and the Unl