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PINOCCHIO
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that he could not see anything. It was very quiet and not even a leaf stirred. Some birds flying along the road struck Pinocchio on the nose with their wings. He jumped back and cried out with fear, “Who goes there?” The echo of the surrounding hills took up his words and repeated, “Who
goes there?” “Who goes there?” “Who goes there?”
As he walked on, he saw on the trunk of a tree a little creature that shone with a pale opaque light, just like a candle behind a globe of transparent porcelain.
“Who are you?” asked Pinocchio.
“I am the Spirit of the Talking Cricket,” it replied, with a little voice that seemed to come from another world.
