Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer,and awakens the next day with his feet all burned offPinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungrythat, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night waspitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightningnow and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea offire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds ofdust, 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 adozen 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 storeswere closed, the doors, the windows. In the streets, noteven a dog could be seen. It seemed the Village of theDead.
Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threwhimself 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 thewindow 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 theold fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boyswho love to roam around at night ringing people's bellswhile 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 thewindow just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold waterpour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, andover his whole body.
He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out fromweariness and hunger.
As he no longer had any strength left with which tostand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet onthe stove to dry them.
There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his woodenfeet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackenedand turned to ashes.
Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were nothis own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knockingsounded 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.
