About an hour afterwards the priest came back, ghastly pale, to his nephew, and taking him aside said:
"My dear nephew—my only kith-and-kin—a great misfortune has befallen me."
"What is it, uncle?" asked the smith.
"My cook," said the priest, lowering his voice, "has—eating potatoes—somehow or other—I don't know how—choked herself."
"Oh!" quoth the smith, turning pale, "it is a great misfortune; but you'll say masses for her soul and have her properly buried."
"But the fact is," interrupted the priest, "she looks so dreadful, with her eyes starting out of their sockets, and her mouth wide open, that I'm quite frightened of her, and besides, if the people see her they'll say that I murdered her."
"Well, and how am I to help you?"
"Come and take her away, in a sack if you like; then bury her in some hole, or throw her down a well. Do whatever you like, as long as I am rid of her."
The smith scratched his head.
"You must help me; you are my only relation. You know that whatever I have 'll go to you some day, so——"