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.

Therefore Snythergen did not waste time trying to wake Squeaky, but hastened to arrange himself in his tree suit. This done, he bent over and with his top branches picked Squeaky up and lifted him out of danger. Next he lowered the house to the ground to make the bear think it was occupied, and took his position as a tree. Hardly had he shaken out his leaves and arranged his branches when the beast arrived.

Casting an inquiring glance at the tree, the bear entered the house in search of food. He proceeded at once to the ice-box. Luckily (as it turned out) the door was open. Before leaving Snythergen had had the quick forethought to put a piece of cheese in his pocket and had neglected to close the ice-box door. When the bear had eaten up everything that was handy, he pushed his head far into one of the smaller compartments of the box to reach a last morsel of jam he had been unable to get before. This time he succeeded and, licking his lips, attempted to pull his head out.

He pulled and he pulled but he could not pull his head out. It was caught in the opening, and the harder he strained, the more firmly the ice-box became attached to him. He growled and he gnashed his teeth. He stood on his hind legs and pounded the ice-box against the walls, until Snythergen and Sancho Wing feared he would knock the house down. Through a window Sancho saw the bear bracing himself for a mighty blow which, if allowed to land, would surely break through the wall.

“Quick, quick, pull the house up!” he called.

Grasping the rope with the twigs of a lower limb, Snythergen gave it a jerk. And just as the brute was delivering a terrific blow the house shot up and the bear’s effort spent itself in the air harmlessly, except that the big fellow was thrown sprawling to the ground, with a force that twisted his neck painfully.

For the moment Snythergen and Sancho Wing forgot their own fears to laugh at the beast’s comical state. Undoubtedly he was the most surprised bear in the whole world. Thinking himself still inside of the house (for whoever heard of a house running away!), he felt about for the walls, but there were no walls there! The ice-box fastened to his head, blinded him. Back and forth he stumbled, groping in every direction. And the pounding of the heavy box on the ground was giving him a splitting headache.

After he had pulled the house up Snythergen was not at all pleased to find the bear had eaten up all of their food. And now he beheld the intruder in a rage, bent on breaking their new ice-box! He was so indignant, his branches fairly itched to punish the clumsy brute. And the moment the bear was in a favorable position Snythergen crept softly behind him, stripped the leaves and twigs from one of his stoutest limbs and gave the beast a sound thrashing. As the blows fell fast and heavy the bear yelled like a sick puppy. But Snythergen closed his ears to the sound, and not until he was out of breath and perspiring did he conclude the brute had had enough. Then his kind heart was touched, for with the headache and the spanking, the bear was aching and smarting at both ends.

“At least I can relieve his headache,” thought Snythergen, bending over to examine the ice-box. There was still ice in one of the compartments. Removing a piece Snythergen was able to crowd it in against the bear’s head, and in spite of the brute’s wiggling, placed it so it rested against his forehead. Very gently the beast settled down on his aching haunches, to let the ice cool his throbbing brow. The ice-box was still attached to him as securely as ever. Apparently he had given up trying to free himself. But the bear was not to rest in peace for long. His head recently so hot now became freezing cold. And the pain of it drove him into a frenzy. Snythergen and Sancho were about to come to his assistance when he charged blindly forward and a lucky jump was all that saved Snythergen from a fatal collision. The bear rushed back and forth beating the ice-box against the rocks and trees, not minding how it hurt his neck and shoulders. His one desire was to relieve the terrible freezing in his brain.

Snythergen quite understood all the bear’s thoughts and now decided that the big fellow had been punished enough. Grasping the rope from which the boulder dangled, and swinging it around his head, he brought it down squarely upon the ice-box. This well-aimed blow split open the box, freeing the bear’s head, but the door frame still clung about his neck—an absurd collar.

Stunned, lame, and aching, the poor bear crawled into the sunlight to thaw out his brain and to melt his frost-bitten thoughts. But the sun did not melt his hard heart or calm his rising indignation. He looked about angrily for his persecutors. He strode threateningly up to one tree after another, but they all stood very still and wore the innocent look that comes natural to trees. Snythergen, however, had not been a tree long enough to look as unconcerned as the others; besides he had a guilty conscience.

The bear may have smelled the cheese in Snythergen’s pocket, or maybe something unusual in his appearance made the beast suspect him, for he came up and walked around and around the tree until poor Snythergen was dizzy, following with his eyes, and so frightened he could hardly stand. Uneasily he swayed from side to side, catching his balance just in time to avoid a fall. The bear stopped, rubbed his nose on Snythergen’s bark, dug a claw into it. And Snythergen could not avoid a cry of pain. Sancho Wing saw the danger his pals were in, and realized that something must be done quickly if they were to be saved.

“Throw the cheese to him!” cried the little bird. Snythergen tossed it on the ground a few yards away and the bear followed it eagerly, gulping it down in one mouthful. Sancho Wing thought he heard woodchoppers in the distance and flew away to summon help. Soon he found two men with axes and a rifle, and hiding in some leaves, he called to them:

“Hello, hunters! there is a bear over there near that shaking tree. Follow the sound of my voice and you will easily find the place.”

The men were simple fellows, only too eager to follow Sancho as he darted through the leaves calling: “This way, this way!” They could not see who was calling but supposed it was a little boy who was keeping out of sight for fear of the bear. Now that help was near, in the midst of his anxiety Sancho could not avoid chuckling. For he had thought of a way to get even with Snythergen for the tricks he had played on him about the nest. As he hurried along he told the woodsmen, after driving away the bear to cut down a certain tree. “You will know it by the sleeping pig in its top branches,” he said. Just then the bear saw the huntsmen approaching and he did not wait for them to come up, but made tracks before they could get a shot at him.