“That wouldn’t matter much if we could get the wood,” said the greedy old woman. “I’ll tell you what we must do—we must lock up everything there is to eat in the house, leave the Khichri pot by the fire, and hide in the garret. When the Bear comes he will think we have gone out and left his dinner for him. Then he will throw down his bundle and come in. Of course he will rampage a little when he finds the pot is empty, but he can’t do much mischief, and I don’t think he will take the trouble of carrying the wood away.” So they made haste to lock up all the food and hide themselves in the garret. Meanwhile the Bear had been toiling and moiling away at his bundle of wood, which took him much longer to collect than he expected; however, at last he arrived quite exhausted at the woodcutter’s cottage. Seeing the brass Khichri pot by the fire, he threw down his load and went in. And then—mercy! wasn’t he angry when he found nothing in it—not even a grain of rice, nor a tiny wee bit of pulse, but only a smell that was so uncommonly nice that he actually cried with rage and disappointment. He flew into the most dreadful temper, but though he turned the house topsy-turvy, he could not find a morsel of food. Finally, he declared he would take the wood away again, but, as the crafty old woman had imagined, when he came to the task, he did not care, even for the sake of revenge, to carry so heavy a burden. “I won’t go away empty-handed,” said he to himself, seizing the Khichri pot; “if I can’t get the taste I’ll have the smell!” Now, as he left the cottage, he caught sight of the beautiful golden pears hanging over into the yard. His mouth began to water at once, for he was desperately hungry, and the pears were the best of the season. In a trice he was on the wall, up the tree, and gathering the biggest and ripest one he could find, was just putting it into his mouth when a thought struck him. “If I take these pears home I shall be able to sell them for ever so much to the other bears, and then with the money I shall be able to buy some Khichri. Ha, ha! I shall have the best of the bargain after all!” So saying, he began to gather the ripe pears as fast as he could and put them in the Khichri pot, but whenever he came to an unripe one he would shake his head and say, “No one would buy that, yet it is a pity to waste it.” So he would pop it into his mouth and eat it, making wry faces if it was very sour. Now all this time the Woodman’s Wife had been watching the Bear through a crevice, and holding her breath for fear of discovery; but, at last, what with being asthmatic, and having a cold in her head, she could hold it no longer, and just as the Khichri pot was quite full of golden ripe pears, out she came with the most tremendous sneeze you ever heard—“A-h-che-u!” The Bear, thinking some one had fired a gun at him, dropped the Khichri pot into the cottage yard, and fled into the forest as fast as his legs would carry him.