want to remain with him always and never to leave him again, never again! . . . Oh, little Fairy, tell me that it is not true that you are dead! . . . If you really love me . . . if you really love your little brother, come to life again . . . come to life as you were before! . . . Does it not grieve you to see me alone and abandoned by everybody? . . . If assassins come they will hang me again to the branch of a tree . . . and then I should die indeed. What do you imagine that I can do here alone in the world? Now that I have lost you and my papa, who will give me food? Where shall I go to sleep at night? Who will make me a new jacket? Oh, it would be better, a hundred times better, that I should die also! Yes, I want to die . . . ih! ih! ih!'
And in his despair he tried to tear his hair; but his hair, being made of wood, he could not even have the satisfaction of sticking his fingers into it.
Just then a large Pigeon flew over his head, and stopping with distended wings called down to him from a great height:
'Tell me, child, what are you doing there?'
'Don't you see? I am crying!' said Pinocchio, raising his head towards the voice and rubbing his eyes with his jacket.
'Tell me,' continued the Pigeon, 'amongst your companions, do you happen to know a puppet who is called Pinocchio?'
