it was all in vain. The waves racing and tumbling over each other knocked him about as if he had been a stick or a wisp of straw. At last, fortunately for him, a billow rolled up with such fury and impetuosity that he was lifted up and thrown violently far on to the sands.
He fell with such force that as he struck the ground his ribs and all his joints cracked, but he comforted himself saying:
'This time also I have made a wonderful escape!'
Little by little the sky cleared, the sun shone out in all his splendour, and the sea became as quiet and smooth as oil.
The puppet put his clothes in the sun to dry, and began to look in every direction in hopes of seeing on the vast expanse of water a little boat with a little man in it. But although he looked and looked, he could see nothing but the sky, and the sea, and the sail of some ship, but so far away that it seemed no bigger than a fly.
'If I only knew what this island was called!' he said to himself. 'If I only knew whether it was inhabited by civilised people—I mean by people who have not got the bad habit of hanging boys to the branches of the trees. But who can I ask? who, if there is nobody? . . .'
This idea of finding himself alone, alone, all alone, in the midst of this great unin-
