“Only too true.  And I paid two dollars for you.  And now, who will give me back my good money?”

“And why did you buy me?  You bought me to make a drum of my skin!”

“Only too true!  And now, where shall I find another skin?”

“Don’t despair, master.  There are such a number of little donkeys in the world!”

“Tell me, you impertinent rascal, does your story end here?”

“No,” answered the puppet; “I have another two words to say and then I shall have finished.  After you had bought me you brought me to this place to kill me; but then, yielding to a feeling of compassion, you preferred to tie a stone round my neck and to throw me into the sea.  This humane feeling does you great honor and I shall always be grateful to you for it.  But, nevertheless, dear master, this time you made your calculations without considering the Fairy!”

“And who is the Fairy?”

“She is my mamma and she resembles all other good mammas who care for their children, and who never lose sight of them, but help them lovingly, even when, on account of their foolishness and evil conduct, they deserve to be abandoned and left to themselves.  Well, then, the good Fairy, as soon as she saw that I was in danger of drowning, sent immediately an immense shoal of fish, who, believing me really to be a little dead donkey, began to eat me.  And what mouthfuls they took; I should never have thought that fish were greedier than boys!  Some ate my ears, some my muzzle, others my neck and mane, some the skin of my legs, some my coat.  Amongst them there was a little fish so polite that he even condescended to eat my tail.”

“From this time forth,” said his purchaser, horrified, “I swear that I will never touch fish.  It would be too dreadful to open a mullet, or a fried whiting, and to find inside a donkey’s tail!”

“I agree with you,” said the puppet, laughing.  “However, I must tell you that when the fish had finished eating the donkey’s hide that covered me from head to foot, they naturally reached the bone, or rather the wood, for, as you see, I am made of the hardest wood.  But after giving a few bites they soon discovered that I was not a morsel for their teeth, and, disgusted with such indigestible food, they went off, some in one direction and some in another, without so much as saying ‘Thank you’ to me.  And now, at last, I have told you how it was that when you pulled up the rope you found a live puppet instead of a dead donkey.”

“I laugh at your story,” cried the man in a rage.  “I know only that I spent two dollars to buy you, and I will have my money back.  Shall I tell you what I will do?  I will take you back to the market and I will sell you by weight as seasoned wood for lighting fires.”

“Sell me if you like; I am content,” said Pinocchio.

But as he said it he made a spring and plunged into the water.  Swimming gaily away from the shore, he called to his poor owner: