“But it might have been—­and even mortal,” answered the old man, “for a heavy book was thrown at his head.”

“And who threw it?”

“A schoolmate of his, a certain Pinocchio.”

“And who is this Pinocchio?” asked the Marionette, feigning ignorance.

“They say he is a mischief-maker, a tramp, a street urchin—­”

“Calumnies!  All calumnies!”

“Do you know this Pinocchio?”

“By sight!” answered the Marionette.

“And what do you think of him?” asked the old man.

“I think he’s a very good boy, fond of study, obedient, kind to his Father, and to his whole family—­”

As he was telling all these enormous lies about himself, Pinocchio touched his nose and found it twice as long as it should be.  Scared out of his wits, he cried out: 

“Don’t listen to me, good man!  All the wonderful things I have said are not true at all.  I know Pinocchio well and he is indeed a very wicked fellow, lazy and disobedient, who instead of going to school, runs away with his playmates to have a good time.”

At this speech, his nose returned to its natural size.

“Why are you so pale?” the old man asked suddenly.

“Let me tell you.  Without knowing it, I rubbed myself against a newly painted wall,” he lied, ashamed to say that he had been made ready for the frying pan.

“What have you done with your coat and your hat and your breeches?”

“I met thieves and they robbed me.  Tell me, my good man, have you not, perhaps, a little suit to give me, so that I may go home?”

“My boy, as for clothes, I have only a bag in which I keep hops.  If you want it, take it.  There it is.”

Pinocchio did not wait for him to repeat his words.  He took the bag, which happened to be empty, and after cutting a big hole at the top and two at the sides, he slipped into it as if it were a shirt.  Lightly clad as he was, he started out toward the village.

Along the way he felt very uneasy.  In fact he was so unhappy that he went along taking two steps forward and one back, and as he went he said to himself: 

“How shall I ever face my good little Fairy?  What will she say when she sees me?  Will she forgive this last trick of mine?  I am sure she won’t.  Oh, no, she won’t.  And I deserve it, as usual!  For I am a rascal, fine on promises which I never keep!”

He came to the village late at night.  It was so dark he could see nothing and it was raining pitchforks.

Pinocchio went straight to the Fairy’s house, firmly resolved to knock at the door.

When he found himself there, he lost courage and ran back a few steps.  A second time he came to the door and again he ran back.  A third time he repeated his performance.  The fourth time, before he had time to lose his courage, he grasped the knocker and made a faint sound with it.

He waited and waited and waited.  Finally, after a full half hour, a top-floor window (the house had four stories) opened and Pinocchio saw a large Snail look out.  A tiny light glowed on top of her head.  “Who knocks at this late hour?” she called.