“It is too bitter! too bitter!  I cannot drink it.”

“How can you tell that, when you have not even tasted it?”

“I can imagine it!  I know it from the smell.  I want first another lump of sugar and then I will drink it!”

The Fairy then, with all the patience of a good mamma, put another lump of sugar in his mouth, and again presented the tumbler to him.

“I cannot drink it so!” said the puppet, making a thousand grimaces.

“Why?”

“Because that pillow that is down there on my feet bothers me.”

The Fairy removed the pillow.

“It is useless.  Even so I cannot drink it.”

“What is the matter now?”

“The door of the room, which is half open, bothers me.”

The Fairy went and closed the door.

“In short,” cried Pinocchio, bursting into tears, “I will not drink that bitter water—­no, no, no!”

“My boy, you will repent it.”

“I don’t care.”

“Your illness is serious.”

“I don’t care.”

“The fever in a few hours will carry you into the other world.”

“I don’t care.”

“Are you not afraid of death?”

“I am not in the least afraid!  I would rather die than drink that bitter medicine.”

At that moment the door of the room flew open and four rabbits as black as ink entered carrying on their shoulders a little bier.

“What do you want with me?” cried Pinocchio, sitting up in bed in a great fright.

“We have come to take you,” said the biggest rabbit.

“To take me?  But I am not yet dead!”

“No, not yet? but you have only a few minutes to live, as you have refused the medicine that would have cured you of the fever.”

“Oh, Fairy, Fairy!” the puppet then began to scream, “give me the tumbler at once; be quick, for pity’s sake, for I will not die—­no, I will not die.”

And, taking the tumbler in both hands, he emptied it at a gulp.

“We must have patience!” said the rabbits; “this time we have made our journey in vain.”  And, taking the little bier again on their shoulders, they left the room, grumbling and murmuring between their teeth.

In fact, a few minutes afterwards, Pinocchio jumped down from the bed quite well, because wooden puppets have the privilege of being seldom ill and of being cured very quickly.

The Fairy, seeing him running and rushing about the room as gay and as lively as a young cock, said to him: 

“Then my medicine has really done you good?”

“Good?  I should think so!  It has restored me to life!”

“Then why on earth did you require so much persuasion to take it?”

“Because you see that we boys are all like that!  We are more afraid of medicine than of the illness.”

“Disgraceful!  Boys ought to know that a good remedy taken in time may save them from a serious illness, and perhaps even from death.”