Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi Read Free Book Online Page A

pine tree and sat in the topmost branches. The murderers tried to climb the tree, too, but halfway up they slipped and slid back down to the ground, skinning their hands and feet.
    Instead of giving up, they piled dry sticks around the base of the tree and set them on fire. In no time, the pine began to burn and blaze like a candle in the breeze. Seeing the flames rise higher and higher and not wanting to end up like a roasted pigeon, Pinocchio made a great leap from the top of the tree and began running again through fields and vineyards. The murderers gave chase and kept chasing, never tiring.
    Day was beginning to break, with the murderers still in pursuit, when Pinocchio found his path blocked by an enormous ditch full of filthy water that was the muddy color of coffee with milk. What was he to do? “One, two, three!” yelled the puppet, and with a running start he leapt to the opposite bank. The murderers jumped, too, but not having judged the distance properly, they fell— kersplash! —smack in the middle of the ditch. When Pinocchio heard them flailing in the water, he shouted through his laughter, “Enjoy your bath, Mr. Murderers!” And he kept on running.
    He was imagining them nicely drowned, but when he turned around to look, he saw that they were both still chasing him, still draped in their coal sacks, gushing water like a pair of upside-down baskets.

15
    J UST AS the puppet, terribly discouraged, was on the point of flinging himself to the ground and giving up, he happened to look around and see, through the dark green of the trees, a little white house, gleaming in the distance like snow.
    â€œIf only I had strength enough to reach that house, perhaps I would be saved!” he thought.
    Not wasting a moment, he started running at full speed again, toward the forest. The murderers were still behind him.
    At last, after racing desperately for almost two hours, he arrived, completely out of breath, at the door of the little house, and he knocked.
    No answer.
    He knocked again, harder this time, for he could hear the rapid approach of footsteps and the loud, panting breath of his persecutors. Still no answer.
    In desperation, since knocking wasn’t working, he began to kick the door and bang his head against it. Then a beautiful girl came to the window, her hair sky-blue, her face white as a waxen image. Her eyes were closed and her hands were folded across her chest, and without moving her lips she said, in a tiny voice that seemed to come from the world beyond, “There is no one in this house. They are all dead.”
    â€œOpen the door yourself, at least!” begged Pinocchio, weeping.
    â€œI too am dead.”
    â€œDead? But then what are you doing there at the window?”
    â€œI am waiting for the coffin to come and carry me away.”
    As soon as she had uttered those words, the girl disappeared, and the window closed again without a sound.
    â€œOh, Beautiful Girl with Sky-Blue Hair,” yelled Pinocchio, “for pity’s sake open the door! Have mercy on a poor boy chased by murd—”
    But he was unable to finish the word, for he felt himself being seized by the neck, and he heard two familiar voices growl menacingly: “You won’t get away again!”
    The puppet, seeing death flashing before his eyes, trembled so hard that the joints of his wooden legs and the four gold coins hidden beneath his tongue all rattled.
    â€œWell then,” the murderers asked him, “will you open your mouth or not? What, no reply? Never mind, this time we’ll make you open it!”
    They each whipped out a nasty-looking knife, long and razor sharp, and stabbed him— whack, whack —right in the back.
    Luckily, the puppet was made of very hard wood indeed, which explains why both blades shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving the murderers holding only the handles of their knives and gaping at each other.
    â€œI know,” said the