“Oh, Pinocchio!” cried the Fox, “give a little in charity to two poor, infirm people.”

“Infirm people,” repeated the Cat.

“Begone, impostors!” answered the puppet.  “You took me in once, but you will never catch me again.”

“Believe me, Pinocchio, we are now poor and unfortunate indeed!”

“If you are poor, you deserve it.  Recollect the proverb:  ’Stolen money never fructifies.’  Begone, impostors!”

And, thus saying, Pinocchio and Geppetto went their way in peace.  When they had gone another hundred yards they saw, at the end of a path in the middle of the fields, a nice little straw hut with a roof of tiles and bricks.

“That hut must be inhabited by some one,” said Pinocchio.  “Let us go and knock at the door.”

They went and knocked.

“We are a poor father and son without bread and without a roof,” answered the puppet.

“Turn the key and the door will open,” said the same little voice.

Pinocchio turned the key and the door opened.  They went in and looked here, there, and everywhere, but could see no one.

“Oh! where is the master of the house?” said Pinocchio, much surprised.

“Here I am, up here!”

The father and son looked immediately up to the ceiling, and there on a beam they saw the Talking-Cricket.

“Oh, my dear little Cricket!” said Pinocchio, bowing politely to him.

“Ah! now you call me ‘Your dear little Cricket.’  But do you remember the time when you threw the handle of a hammer at me, to drive me from your house?”

“You are right, Cricket!  Drive me away also!  Throw the handle of a hammer at me, but have pity on my poor papa.”

“I will have pity on both father and son, but I wished to remind you of the ill treatment I received from you, to teach you that in this world, when it is possible, we should show courtesy to everybody, if we wish it to be extended to us in our hour of need.”

“You are right.  Cricket, you are right, and I will bear in mind the lesson you have given me.  But tell me how you managed to buy this beautiful hut.”

“This hut was given to me yesterday by a goat whose wool was of a beautiful blue color.”

“And where has the goat gone?” asked Pinocchio, with lively curiosity.

“I do not know.”

“And when will it come back?”

“It will never come back.  It went away yesterday in great grief and, bleating, it seemed to say:  ’Poor Pinocchio!  I shall never see him more, for by this time the Dog-Fish must have devoured him!’”

“Did it really say that?  Then it was she!  It was my dear little Fairy,” exclaimed Pinocchio, crying and sobbing.

When he had cried for some time he dried his eyes and prepared a comfortable bed of straw for Geppetto to lie down upon.  Then he asked the Cricket: 

“Tell me, little Cricket, where can I find a tumbler of milk for my poor papa?”