“It’s true, Lamp-Wick, it’s true.  If today I am a really happy boy, it is all because of you.  And to think that the teacher, when speaking of you, used to say, ’Do not go with that Lamp-Wick!  He is a bad companion and some day he will lead you astray.’”

“Poor teacher!” answered the other, nodding his head.  “Indeed I know how much he disliked me and how he enjoyed speaking ill of me.  But I am of a generous nature, and I gladly forgive him.”

“Great soul!” said Pinocchio, fondly embracing his friend.

Five months passed and the boys continued playing and enjoying themselves from morn till night, without ever seeing a book, or a desk, or a school.  But, my children, there came a morning when Pinocchio awoke and found a great surprise awaiting him, a surprise which made him feel very unhappy, as you shall see.

CHAPTER 32

Pinocchio’s ears become like those of a Donkey.  In a little while he changes into a real Donkey and begins to bray.

Everyone, at one time or another, has found some surprise awaiting him.  Of the kind which Pinocchio had on that eventful morning of his life, there are but few.

What was it?  I will tell you, my dear little readers.  On awakening, Pinocchio put his hand up to his head and there he found—­

Guess!

He found that, during the night, his ears had grown at least ten full inches!

You must know that the Marionette, even from his birth, had very small ears, so small indeed that to the naked eye they could hardly be seen.  Fancy how he felt when he noticed that overnight those two dainty organs had become as long as shoe brushes!

He went in search of a mirror, but not finding any, he just filled a basin with water and looked at himself.  There he saw what he never could have wished to see.  His manly figure was adorned and enriched by a beautiful pair of donkey’s ears.

I leave you to think of the terrible grief, the shame, the despair of the poor Marionette.

He began to cry, to scream, to knock his head against the wall, but the more he shrieked, the longer and the more hairy grew his ears.

At those piercing shrieks, a Dormouse came into the room, a fat little Dormouse, who lived upstairs.  Seeing Pinocchio so grief-stricken, she asked him anxiously: 

“What is the matter, dear little neighbor?”

“I am sick, my little Dormouse, very, very sick—­and from an illness which frightens me!  Do you understand how to feel the pulse?”

“A little.”

“Feel mine then and tell me if I have a fever.”

The Dormouse took Pinocchio’s wrist between her paws and, after a few minutes, looked up at him sorrowfully and said:  “My friend, I am sorry, but I must give you some very sad news.”

“What is it?”

“You have a very bad fever.”

“But what fever is it?”