"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?"
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