“My boy, as to clothes, I have nothing but a little sack in which I keep beans.  If you wish for it, take it; there it is.”

Pinocchio did not wait to be told twice.  He took the sack at once and with a pair of scissors he cut a hole at the end and at each side, and put it on like a shirt.  And with this slight clothing he set off for the village.

But as he went he did not feel at all comfortable—­so little so, indeed, that for a step forward he took another backwards, and he said, talking to himself: 

“How shall I ever present myself to my good little Fairy?  What will she say when she sees me?  Will she forgive me this second escapade?  Oh, I am sure that she will not forgive me!  And it serves me right, for I am a rascal.  I am always promising to correct myself and I never keep my word!”

When he reached the village it was night and very dark.  A storm had come on and as the rain was coming down in torrents he went straight to the Fairy’s house, resolved to knock at the door.

But when he was there his courage failed him and instead of knocking he ran away some twenty paces.  He returned to the door a second time and laid hold of the knocker, and, trembling, gave a little knock.

He waited and waited.  At last, after half an hour had passed, a window on the top floor was opened—­the house was four stories high—­and Pinocchio saw a big Snail with a lighted candle on her head looking out.  She called to him: 

“Who is there at this hour?”

“Is the Fairy at home?” asked the puppet.

“The Fairy is asleep and must not be awakened; but who are you?”

“It is I.”

“Who is I?”

“Pinocchio.”

“And who is Pinocchio?”

“The puppet who lives in the Fairy’s house.”

“Ah, I understand!” said the Snail.  “Wait for me there.  I will come down and open the door directly.”

“Be quick, for pity’s sake, for I am dying of cold.”

“My boy, I am a snail, and snails are never in a hurry.”

An hour passed, and then two, and the door was not opened.  Pinocchio, who was wet through and through, and trembling from cold and fear, at last took courage and knocked again, and this time he knocked louder.

At this second knock a window on the lower story opened and the same Snail appeared at it.

“Beautiful little Snail,” cried Pinocchio from the street, “I have been waiting for two hours!  And two hours on such a bad night seem longer than two years.  Be quick, for pity’s sake.”

“My boy,” answered the calm little animal—­“my boy, I am a snail, and snails are never in a hurry.”

And the window was shut again.

Shortly afterwards midnight struck; then one o’clock, then two o’clock, and the door remained still closed.

Pinocchio at last, losing all patience, seized the knocker in a rage, intending to give a blow that would resound through the house.  But the knocker, which was iron, turned suddenly into an eel and, slipping out of his hands, disappeared in the stream of water that ran down the middle of the street.