The goldfinch stayed close to his new friends and in the end they accepted him as one of them. They named him “Sancho Wing” and built him a little house on the roof of their new home. In many respects it was not unlike the permanent nest the bird had planned to build in one of the strange tree’s branches, but it was made of regular building materials—not woven of twigs and weeds—though Snythergen remembered Sancho Wing’s weakness for soft things, and caught and saved all the thistle down and milkweed silk that blew against his leaves to use for lining the walls and floors. The living rooms were down stairs, but in the garret above there was ample space in which the finch might store stray bits of string, odd twigs, and curious little things he found in the woods—for Sancho Wing was an eager collector of curiosities. But the most interesting thing about the house was its watch tower, which rose to a dizzy height—even for a bird. For it was intended as a look-out from which Sancho might keep a sharp watch for the bear. Sancho Wing was far too curious a little bird to sit quietly at home and wait for things to take their course. So, in addition to scanning the horizon daily for signs of the bear, he searched the forest over until he located the cave in which the beast lived, and actually flew into it. As it was getting dark and the beast was half asleep, he mistook the bird for a bat and paid no attention to him. Although very much frightened, Sancho hovered around until the brute’s heavy snoring indicated that he was fast asleep. Then hastening back he assured Snythergen and Squeaky they might now rest in peace, and retired to his own snug feather bed. The three friends had been living together happily and unmolested by the bear for about a month, when one Sunday at daybreak Sancho Wing opened his eyes and wondered what had awakened him. He listened. There was a faint sound like the crackling of twigs. He winged a few hundred yards into the woods in the direction of the cave and saw the bear approaching. Hastening back he pecked Snythergen until he opened his eyes. “The bear is coming! Get into your tree suit at once, it’s your only chance!” said Sancho. Snythergen pushed the house up out of the way and jumped out of bed, calling to the pig. But Squeaky would not wake up. He was too fond of sleep ever to allow himself to be disturbed before breakfast was on the table, and always he slept rolled into a ball, his head tucked under his body; and so tightly did he curl himself up that he kept this position no matter what any one did to him. Snythergen might have rolled him on the ground or tossed him into the air, without waking him. And had he done so Squeaky would have recounted these adventures afterwards as part of his dream.