at them and smelling them complacently. And after he had smelt them he threw them into a pan without water.
He repeated the same operation many times; and as he drew out the fish, his mouth watered and he said, chuckling to himself:
'What good whiting! . . .'
'What exquisite sardines! . . .'
'These soles are delicious! . . .'
'And these crabs excellent! . . .'
'What dear little anchovies! . . .'
I need not tell you that the whiting, the sardines, the soles, the crabs, and the anchovies were all thrown promiscuously into the pan to keep company with the mullet.
The last to remain in the net was Pinocchio.
No sooner had the fisherman taken him out than he opened his big green eyes with astonishment, and cried, half-frightened:
'What species of fish is this? Fish of this kind I never remember to have eaten!'
And he looked at him again attentively, and having examined him well all over, he ended by saying:
'I know: he must be a craw-fish.'
Pinocchio, mortified at being mistaken for a craw-fish, said in an angry voice:
'A craw-fish indeed! do you take me for a craw-fish? what treatment! Let me tell you that I am a puppet.'
