The pope got under weigh with all his retinue, and buried the old crone in proper style. After the funeral the old man invited him to his house, to take part in the feast in memory of the dead. Well, they entered the cottage, and sat down to table--and there appeared from somewhere or other meat and drink and all sorts of snacks, everything in profusion. The (reverend) guest sat down, ate for three people, looked greedily at what was not his. The (other) guests finished their meal, and separated to go to their homes; then the pope also rose from the table. The old man went to speed him on his way. As soon as they got into the farmyard, and the pope saw they were alone at last, he began questioning the old man: "Listen, friend! confess to me, don't leave so much as a single sin on your soul--it's just the same before me as before God! How have you managed to get on at such a pace? You used to be a poor moujik, and now--marry! where did it come from? Confess, friend, whose breath have you stopped? whom have you pillaged?" "What are you talking about, batyushka? I will tell you the exact truth. I have not robbed, nor plundered, nor killed anyone. A treasure tumbled into my hands of its own accord." And he told him how it all happened. When the pope heard these words he actually shook all over with greediness. Going home, he did nothing by night and by day but think, "That such a wretched lout of a moujik should have come in for such a lump of money! Is there any way of tricking him now, and getting this pot of money out of him?" He told his wife about it, and he and she discussed the matter together, and held counsel over it. "Listen, mother," says he; "we've a goat, haven't we?" "Yes." "All right, then; we'll wait until it's night, and then we'll do the job properly." Late in the evening the pope dragged the goat indoors, killed it, and took off its skin--horns, beard, and all complete. Then he pulled the goat's skin over himself and said to his wife: "Bring a needle and thread, mother, and fasten up the skin all round, so that it mayn't slip off." So she took a strong needle, and some tough thread, and sewed him up in the goatskin. Well, at the dead of night, the pope went straight to the old man's cottage, got under the window, and began knocking and scratching. The old man hearing the noise, jumped up and asked: "Who's there?" "The Devil!" "Ours is a holy spot![34]" shrieked the moujik, and began crossing himself and uttering prayers. "Listen, old man," says the pope, "From me thou will not escape, although thou may'st pray, although thou may'st cross thyself; much better give me back my pot of money, otherwise I will make thee pay for it. See now, I pitied thee in thy misfortune, and I showed thee the treasure, thinking thou wouldst take a little of it to pay for the funeral, but thou hast pillaged it utterly."