He walked all night; at daybreak he saw a man sleeping on the grass by the highway, having near him a sack exactly like the one he was carrying.
"What a good joke it'll be," thought he, "to take that sack and put mine in its stead."
He at once stepped lightly on the grass, put down the cook, took up the other sack, which was much lighter than his own, and scampered back home as fast as his weary legs could carry him.
An hour afterwards the sleeping man awoke, took up his sack, which he was surprised to find so much heavier than it had been when he had gone off to sleep, and then went on his way.
That evening the priest came back to his nephew's house, looking uglier and more ghastly, if possible, than the evening before. Panting and gasping, with a weak and broken voice:
"She's back again," he said in a hoarse whisper.
The smith burst out laughing.
"It's no laughing matter," quoth the priest, with a long face.
"No, indeed, it isn't," replied the nephew; "only, tell me how she came back."
"A pedlar, an honest man whom I sometimes help by lending him a trifle on his goods—merely out of charity—brought me a sack of shoes, begging me to keep it for him till he found a stall for to-morrow's fair. I told him to put the sack in the kitchen, and he did so. When he had gone, I thought I'd just see what kind of shoes he had for sale, and whether he had a pair that fitted me. I opened the sack, and I almost fainted when I saw the frightful face of the cook staring at me."