As for Peter, he made eyes at the Princess, and the Princess looked down on her plate and blushed, and Peter thought that he had never seen such a pretty girl.

After a while the King began to question Peter how he came by all these fine things—­the precious stones, the silver bird, and the golden sword; but no, Peter would not tell.  Then the King and the Princess begged and begged him, until, at last, Peter lost his wits and told all about the bottle.  Then the King said nothing more, and presently, it being nine o’clock, Peter went to bed.  After he had gone the King and the Princess put their heads together, and the end of the matter was that the wicked King went to Peter’s room and stole the bottle from under the pillow where he had hidden it, and put one in its place that was as empty as a beer barrel after 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.