int, and, instead of
striking with the flat side of the planks, began to strike with the
sharp edges, and his enemies soon fled before him, howling like wolves.
If the savages had not been thoroughly hardened by long exposure to heat
and cold by day and night, he would have left them dead on the field.

The Kalevide sat down to rest after the battle, and called to his dear
brother, who had aided him, to show himself. But his friend answered
that he could not venture out into the open, for he was only a poor
naked little hedgehog. So the hero called to him to come, and he would
clothe him. The hedgehog crept out of his warm nest, naked and
shivering, and the hero cut a piece from the lining of his own coat, and
gave it to the hedgehog, who joyfully wrapped himself in the warm
covering. But the piece was not large enough to cover him entirely, and
his legs and belly remained naked as before.

The Kalevide now wanted to sleep, but he was in the midst of a swamp. He
therefore fetched a load of sand from the distant sandhills, to make
himself a bed. He then felt into his bag for something to eat, when his
thumb came against the cold stiff body of his little friend, who had
been killed in his sleep by a chance blow during the fight, without
having had time to cry out or move a limb. He was much grieved at the
untimely death of his _protege_, and dug him a grave with his own hands,
round which he planted berry-bearing bushes. Then he ate his supper and
fell asleep, to dream of the events of the past day.

While he was asleep, the sorcerer himself crept to his side, and by his
spells and incantations, and the use of magic herbs, threw him into a
deep slumber, which lasted for days and nights. Presently a messenger
came in haste to summon the king, and the cup-bearer directed him to
Lake Peipus; but no one had seen or heard anything of him.

On a fine summer's day, the people flocked from all parts of the country
to the sacred hill of Taara for a great festival, and as yet there came
no news of the king. Summer faded into autumn, and the Kalevide still
slept on, but he was dreaming of a new sword, much better than the uncle
of his father Kalev had forged for him, which was forged in an
underground smithy.

This sword had been forged by the pupils of Ilmarine[62] in a workshop
in the interior of a great mountain at the middle point of the earth,
the peak of which was lost in the clouds. Seven strong smiths wrought it
with co