Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer, and awakens the next day with his feet all burned off.
....See, I wouldn't provide these summaries. If you know what's going to happen, why read the whole thing? Just skip to the next part.
This author clearly never understood the concept of 'Spoilers'.
Pinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea of fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds of dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way.
Pinocchio was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning, but the hunger he felt was far greater than his fear. In a dozen leaps and bounds, he came to the village, tired out, puffing like a whale, and with tongue hanging.
....clearly this author never encountered a whale either.
The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, the doors, the windows. In the streets, not even a dog could be seen. It seemed the Village of the Dead.
Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: "Someone will surely answer that!"
He was right. An old man in a nightcap opened the window and looked out. He called down angrily:
"What do you want at this hour of night?"
"Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I am hungry."
"Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells while they are peacefully asleep.
After a minute or two, the same voice cried:
"Get under the window and hold out your hat!"
Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and over his whole body.
Well, you did bother the guy at an ungodly hour. I can't say I blame him, I've wanted to pitch a boot at some particularly belligerent birds occasionally.
He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and hunger.
As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them.
There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes.
Wouldn't he feel it?
Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not his own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door.
"Who is it?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
"It is I," answered a voice.
It was the voice of Geppetto.
Finally having returned to shove the little snot into the stove and burn him to ashes! ....wishful thinking on my part.
No picture for this one because not only am I dead tired from working on a plush, making apricot jam, and cleaning house like mad, but there really wasn't anything I could draw for this one except for the puppet himself, and puppets creep me out so I really don't want to draw that, sorry!