At this answer, the Pigeon flew swiftly down to the earth.
He was much larger than a turkey.
"Then you know Geppetto also?"
"Do I know him? He's my father, my poor, dear father!
Has he, perhaps, spoken to you of me? Will you take me to him?
Is he still alive? Answer me, please! Is he still alive?"
"I left him three days ago on the shore of a large sea."
"What was he doing?"
"He was building a little boat with which to cross the ocean.
For the last four months, that poor man has been wandering
around Europe, looking for you. Not having found you yet,
he has made up his mind to look for you in the New World,
far across the ocean."
"How far is it from here to the shore?" asked Pinocchio anxiously.
"More than fifty miles."
"Fifty miles? Oh, dear Pigeon, how I wish I had your wings!"
"If you want to come, I'll take you with me."
"How?"
"Astride my back. Are you very heavy?"
"Heavy? Not at all. I'm only a feather."
"Very well."
Saying nothing more, Pinocchio jumped on the Pigeon's
back and, as he settled himself, he cried out gayly:
"Gallop on, gallop on, my pretty steed! I'm in a great hurry."
The Pigeon flew away, and in a few minutes he had
reached the clouds. The Marionette looked to see what
was below them. His head swam and he was so frightened
that he clutched wildly at the Pigeon's neck to keep
himself from falling.
They flew all day. Toward evening the Pigeon said:
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