“Know, then, that, once upon a time, I was a wooden Marionette, just as I am today.  One day I was about to become a boy, a real boy, but on account of my laziness and my hatred of books, and because I listened to bad companions, I ran away from home.  One beautiful morning, I awoke to find myself changed into a donkey—­long ears, gray coat, even a tail!  What a shameful day for me!  I hope you will never experience one like it, dear Master.  I was taken to the fair and sold to a Circus Owner, who tried to make me dance and jump through the rings.  One night, during a performance, I had a bad fall and became lame.  Not knowing what to do with a lame donkey, the Circus Owner sent me to the market place and you bought me.”

“Indeed I did!  And I paid four cents for you.  Now who will return my money to me?”

“But why did you buy me?  You bought me to do me harm—­to kill me—­to make a drumhead out of me!”

“Indeed I did!  And now where shall I find another skin?”

“Never mind, dear Master.  There are so many donkeys in this world.”

“Tell me, impudent little rogue, does your story end here?”

“One more word,” answered the Marionette, “and I am through.  After buying me, you brought me here to kill me.  But feeling sorry for me, you tied a stone to my neck and threw me to the bottom of the sea.  That was very good and kind of you to want me to suffer as little as possible and I shall remember you always.  And now my Fairy will take care of me, even if you—­”

“Your Fairy?  Who is she?”

“She is my mother, and, like all other mothers who love their children, she never loses sight of me, even though I do not deserve it.  And today this good Fairy of mine, as soon as she saw me in danger of drowning, sent a thousand fishes to the spot where I lay.  They thought I was really a dead donkey and began to eat me.  What great bites they took!  One ate my ears, another my nose, a third my neck and my mane.  Some went at my legs and some at my back, and among the others, there was one tiny fish so gentle and polite that he did me the great favor of eating even my tail.”

“From now on,” said the man, horrified, “I swear I shall never again taste fish.  How I should enjoy opening a mullet or a whitefish just to find there the tail of a dead donkey!”

“I think as you do,” answered the Marionette, laughing.  “Still, you must know that when the fish finished eating my donkey coat, which covered me from head to foot, they naturally came to the bones—­or rather, in my case, to the wood, for as you know, I am made of very hard wood.  After the first few bites, those greedy fish found out that the wood was not good for their teeth, and, afraid of indigestion, they turned and ran here and there without saying good-by or even as much as thank you to me.  Here, dear Master, you have my story.  You know now why you found a Marionette and not a dead donkey when you pulled me out of the water.”