The poor maidens, poor homeless doves! did not know whither to go. They sat down in order to rest, and a man came and asked them who they were. He told his master that two little birds had fluttered on to his estate; two fairest damsels similar in form and shape, eye for eye and line for line. One was his sister, but which was it? He could not guess. So the master went to both of them. One was the sister⁠—which? The servant had not lied; he did not know them, and she was angry with him and did not say.

“What shall I do?” asked the master.

“Master, I will pour blood into an ewe-skin, put that under my armpit and talk to the maiden. In the meantime I will go by and will stab you in the side with my knife; then blood will flow; then your sister will betray herself who she is.”

“Very well!”

As soon as it was said it was done. The servant stabbed his master in the side, and the blood poured forth, and he fell down.