CHAPTER 6

Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer,

and awakens the next day with his feet all burned off





Pinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungry

that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was

pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning

now and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea of

fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds of

dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way.



Pinocchio was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning,

but the hunger he felt was far greater than his fear. In a

dozen leaps and bounds, he came to the village, tired out,

puffing like a whale, and with tongue hanging.



The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores

were closed, the doors, the windows. In the streets, not

even a dog could be seen. It seemed the Village of the

Dead.



Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw

himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself:

"Someone will surely answer that!"



He was right. An old man in a nightcap opened the

window and looked out. He called down angrily:



"What do you want at this hour of night?"



"Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread?

I am hungry."



"Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the

old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boys

who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells

while they are peacefully asleep.



After a minute or two, the same voice cried:



"Get under the window and hold out your hat!"



Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the

window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water

pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and

over his whole body.



He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from

weariness and hunger.



As he no longer had any strength left with which to

stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on

the stove to dry them.



There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden

feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened

and turned to ashes.



Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not

his own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking

sounded at the door.



"Who is it?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.



"It is I," answered a voice.



It was the voice of Geppetto.

****

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