sure. What can I do alone in this world, now that I have lost my papa and you? Who will give me anything to eat? Where shall I sleep at night? Who will make my clothes? Oh, it would be better, a hundred times better, that I should die! Yes, I wish to die! Ih! ih! ih!”
While he despaired in this manner he wished to pull out his hair; but his hair being of wood he was not able to raise even a lock.
A large Dove who was flying around, seeing the little marionette leaning on the marble slab, stopped, and, hovering in the air, said, “Tell me, my little boy, what are you doing down there?”
“Do you not see that I am crying?” said Pinocchio, raising his head toward the voice and drying his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.
“Tell me,” added the Dove, “do you not know among your companions a marionette who is called Pinocchio?”
“Pinocchio? Did you say Pinocchio?” cried the marionette, jumping to his feet; “I am Pinocchio.”
When the Dove heard this he flew down to the ground. He was as large as a turkey cock.
“Do you also know Geppetto?” asked the Dove.
“Do I know him? He is my poor papa. Has he asked you about me? Can you take me to him? Is he alive? Tell me, is he alive?”
