When the fight was over, Mastro Antonio had Geppetto’s yellow wig in his hands and Geppetto found the carpenter’s curly wig in his mouth.

“Give me back my wig!” shouted Mastro Antonio in a surly voice.

“You return mine and we’ll be friends.”

The two little old men, each with his own wig back on his own head, shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.

“Well then, Mastro Geppetto,” said the carpenter, to show he bore him no ill will, “what is it you want?”

“I want a piece of wood to make a Marionette.  Will you give it to me?”

Mastro Antonio, very glad indeed, went immediately to his bench to get the piece of wood which had frightened him so much.  But as he was about to give it to his friend, with a violent jerk it slipped out of his hands and hit against poor Geppetto’s thin legs.

“Ah!  Is this the gentle way, Mastro Antonio, in which you make your gifts?  You have made me almost lame!”

“I swear to you I did not do it!”

“It was I, of course!”

“It’s the fault of this piece of wood.”

“You’re right; but remember you were the one to throw it at my legs.”

“I did not throw it!”

“Liar!”

“Geppetto, do not insult me or I shall call you Polendina.”

“Idiot.”

“Polendina!”

“Donkey!”

“Polendina!”

“Ugly monkey!”

“Polendina!”

On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time, Geppetto lost his head with rage and threw himself upon the carpenter.  Then and there they gave each other a sound thrashing.

After this fight, Mastro Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and Geppetto had two buttons missing from his coat.  Thus having settled their accounts, they shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.

Then Geppetto took the fine piece of wood, thanked Mastro Antonio, and limped away toward home.

CHAPTER 3

As soon as he gets home, Geppetto fashions the Marionette and calls it Pinocchio.  The first pranks of the Marionette.

Little as Geppetto’s house was, it was neat and comfortable.  It was a small room on the ground floor, with a tiny window under the stairway.  The furniture could not have been much simpler:  a very old chair, a rickety old bed, and a tumble-down table.  A fireplace full of burning logs was painted on the wall opposite the door.  Over the fire, there was painted a pot full of something which kept boiling happily away and sending up clouds of what looked like real steam.

As soon as he reached home, Geppetto took his tools and began to cut and shape the wood into a Marionette.

“What shall I call him?” he said to himself.  “I think I’ll call him Pinocchio.  This name will make his fortune.  I knew a whole family of Pinocchi once—­Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchi the children—­and they were all lucky.  The richest of them begged for his living.”