Free Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi Page A

again, hoping to reach the Fairy’s house before dark. But along the way, no longer able to bear the terrible pangs of hunger, he jumped into a field with the intention of picking a few bunches of muscadine grapes. If only he had never done that!
    No sooner had he reached the vines when— crack : his legs were suddenly clamped between two very sharp pieces of metal, which made him see stars.
    The poor puppet had been caught in a trap some farmers had laid for the big weasels that plagued every henhouse in the area.

21
    P INOCCHIO , as you can imagine, began to weep and wail and plead. But all his cries were for naught, as there were no houses in sight and not a living soul on the road.
    Night fell.
    Partly because of the agony of the trap that was cutting into his shins, and partly because of his fear at finding himself alone in the dark in the middle of those fields, the puppet was on the verge of fainting. Just then he saw a firefly flit over his head, so he called to her and said, “Oh, little Firefly, would you be so kind as to save me from this torture?”
    â€œPoor child!” replied the Firefly, pausing, moved to pity by the sight of him. “How on earth did your legs end up in that sharp trap?”
    â€œI came into the field to pick two bunches of these muscadine grapes, and—”
    â€œBut were the grapes yours?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, who taught you to take other people’s belongings?”
    â€œI was hungry.”
    â€œHunger, my boy, is not a good reason for taking things that don’t belong to us.”
    â€œIt’s true, it’s true,” shouted Pinocchio, crying, “and I’ll never do it again.”
    At this point the conversation was interrupted by the faint noise of footsteps approaching. It was the owner of the field, coming on tiptoe to see if any of those weasels who had been eating his chickens at night had been caught in his trap.
    Great was his astonishment when, pulling a lantern out from beneath his overcoat, he saw that instead of a weasel, he had caught a boy.
    â€œAh, little thief!” said the furious farmer. “So you’re the one who makes off with my chickens!”
    â€œNot me, not me!” shouted Pinocchio, sobbing. “I only came into the field to take a few grapes!”
    â€œAnyone who can steal grapes is perfectly capable of stealing chickens, too. Leave it to me, I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”
    Opening the trap, he grabbed the puppet by the scruff of his neck and carried him home the way you’d carry a suckling lamb.
    When the farmer reached the courtyard in front of his house, he threw Pinocchio on the ground and with a foot on his neck held him there and said, “It’s late now and I want to go to bed. We’ll settle our accounts tomorrow. Meanwhile, since my watchdog died today, you’ll take his post at once. You’ll be my watchdog.”
    With those words, he slipped a large brass-spiked collar over Pinocchio’s head and tightened it around his neck so it wouldn’t come off. Attached to the collar was a long iron chain—and the chain was fastened to the wall.
    â€œIf it should rain tonight,” the farmer said, “you can go lie down in that wooden doghouse—the straw my poor dog slept on these past four years is still there. And remember to keep an ear out for thieves, and if any should come around, be sure to bark.”
    After this warning, the farmer went inside and bolted the door. And poor Pinocchio was left crouching in the courtyard, more dead than alive from cold, from hunger, and from fear. Every now and then he angrily tugged at his collar, which was tight on his throat, and said through his tears, “It serves me right! Alas, it serves me right! I acted like an idler and a vagabond. I listened to bad advice, and so now bad luck follows me wherever I go. If only I had been a good little boy, like so many