“Who are you?” said the mother, quite frightened.
“Who am I?” said the person, laughing; “that is an odd question to ask me: come, open the window directly.”
“Mother,” said one of the children, “I think it is father’s voice.”
“Andrew, is it you?” said she.
Andrew. Yes, it is me, sure enough; we cannot get in by the door, for the bear is lying there, and we are not sure that he is quite dead.
The mother then opened the window and the shutter. The smith and another man jumped in at the window. Their clothes were torn and covered with blood; their hands and faces also were bloody.
“Andrew, my dear Andrew,” exclaimed the wife, “are you hurt? say, are you hurt?”
Andrew. Neither I nor my companion are hurt; but let us thank God, for the bear was very furious. Come, quick, let us have something warm and comfortable; the battle was sharp, and we have got some severe bruises. Children, where are you?—you need not be afraid; the bear is too large to get through the key-hole, and I don’t think he is very likely to stir again.
“I am of your opinion,” said the stranger, closing the shutter of the window. “I think God has taken away his breath; let us be thankful: we may say, with David, ‘He has delivered us from the bear. His deliverance is for his children.’”
The two children then made their appearance from under the bed, and from behind the washing tub: one was covered with dust and feathers, the other was all over cobwebs. They came up to their father, but cried out when they saw that his arm was bloody.