Pinocchio Ch. 11

CHAPTER XI
Fire Eater sneezes and forgives Pinocchio, who saves his friend, Harlequin, from death

A totally logical sequence of events.

     In the theater, great excitement reigned.

    Fire Eater (this was really his name) was very ugly, but he was far from being as bad as he looked. Proof of this is that, when he saw the poor Marionette being brought in to him, struggling with fear and crying, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" he felt sorry for him and began first to waver and then to weaken. Finally, he could control himself no longer and gave a loud sneeze.

    At that sneeze, Harlequin, who until then had been as sad as a weeping willow (Hey now, this is an unfair stereotype! Weeping willows can be just as happy as anyone else! IT'S A CONSPIRACY MAN!) , smiled happily and leaning toward the Marionette, whispered to him:

    "Good news, brother mine! Fire Eater has sneezed and this is a sign that he feels sorry for you. You are saved!"

BOOOOOOOO.

    For be it known, that, while other people, when sad and sorrowful, weep and wipe their eyes, Fire Eater, on the other hand, had the strange habit of sneezing each time he felt unhappy. The way was just as good as any other to show the kindness of his heart.

Other than making no sense.

    After sneezing, Fire Eater, ugly as ever, cried to Pinocchio:

    "Stop crying! Your wails give me a funny feeling down here in my stomach and--E--tchee!--E--tchee!" Two loud sneezes finished his speech.

His nose is on his stomach?

    "God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

    "Thanks! Are your father and mother still living?" demanded Fire Eater.

    "My father, yes. My mother I have never known."

    "Your poor father would suffer terribly if I were to use you as firewood. Poor old man! I feel sorry for him! E--tchee! E--tchee! E--tchee!" Three more sneezes sounded, louder than ever.

    "God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

    "Thanks! However, I ought to be sorry for myself, too, just now. My good dinner is spoiled. I have no more wood for the fire, and the lamb is only half cooked. Never mind! In your place I'll burn some other Marionette. Hey there! Officers!"

    At the call, two wooden officers appeared, long and thin as a yard of rope, with queer hats on their heads and swords in their hands.

    Fire Eater yelled at them in a hoarse voice:

    "Take Harlequin, tie him, and throw him on the fire. I want my lamb well done!"

    Think how poor Harlequin felt! He was so scared that his legs doubled up under him and he fell to the floor.

    Pinocchio, at that heartbreaking sight, threw himself at the feet of Fire Eater and, weeping bitterly, asked in a pitiful voice which could scarcely be heard:

    "Have pity, I beg of you, signore!"

    "There are no signori here!"

    "Have pity, kind sir!"

    "There are no sirs here!"

    "Have pity, your Excellency!"

    On hearing himself addressed as your Excellency, the Director of the Marionette Theater sat up very straight in his chair, stroked his long beard, and becoming suddenly kind and compassionate, smiled proudly as he said to Pinocchio:

    "Well, what do you want from me now, Marionette?"

Seriously? You're falling for that?
 
    "I beg for mercy for my poor friend, Harlequin, who has never done the least harm in his life."

    "There is no mercy here, Pinocchio. I have spared you. Harlequin must burn in your place. I am hungry and my dinner must be cooked."

    "In that case," said Pinocchio proudly, as he stood up and flung away his cap of dough, "in that case, my duty is clear. Come, officers! Tie me up and throw me on those flames. No, it is not fair for poor Harlequin, the best friend that I have in the world, to die in my place!"

DO IT. DO IT. DO IT. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAN DO IT.

    These brave words, said in a piercing voice, made all the other Marionettes cry. Even the officers, who were made of wood also, cried like two babies.

    Fire Eater at first remained hard and cold as a piece of ice; but then, little by little, he softened and began to sneeze. And after four or five sneezes, he opened wide his arms and said to Pinocchio:

    "You are a brave boy! Come to my arms and kiss me!"

Eeeewww.

    Pinocchio ran to him and scurrying like a squirrel up the long black beard, he gave Fire Eater a loving kiss on the tip of his nose.

    "Has pardon been granted to me?" asked poor Harlequin with a voice that was hardly a breath.

    "Pardon is yours!" answered Fire Eater; and sighing and wagging his head, he added: "Well, tonight I shall have to eat my lamb only half cooked, but beware the next time, Marionettes."

Wouldn't it be bad for his business to use the puppets who are used in his show as firewood instead of actually getting, y'know, real firewood or even old chairs or something? Those things are what provide his income, burning them for his every meal seems rather financially unsound. I'm quite sure it's more expensive to have a carefully carved and constructed marionette made than it is to find some old junk wood or firewood somewhere.

    At the news that pardon had been given, the Marionettes ran to the stage and, turning on all the lights, they danced and sang till dawn.

And no one was brave enough to point out that the theater was stuffed to the brim with clearly possessed bits of timber, which should be burned immediately.

Once again, no pic for this one because the only characters here to be drawn are all puppets and THEY CREEP ME OUT.

Pinocchio Ch. 10

CHAPTER X
The Marionettes recognize their brother Pinocchio, and greet him with loud cheers; but the Director, Fire Eater, happens along and poor Pinocchio almost loses his life

Poor nothing, I'm rooting for the fire on this one.

     Quick as a flash, Pinocchio disappeared into the Marionette Theater. And then something happened which almost caused a riot.

Everyone realized there was a clearly possessed talking pile of scrap wood standing there and promptly went crazy, spontaneously producing pitchforks and torches as they moved to destroy the heathen lumber.

    The curtain was up and the performance had started.

    Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage and, as usual, they were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

    The theater was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two Marionettes.

People were easily amused back then. It happens when you've got nothing better to do than pick fleas off your sheep.
 
    The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any warning, Harlequin stopped talking. Turning toward the audience, he pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time:

    "Look, look! Am I asleep or awake? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?"

    "Yes, yes! It is Pinocchio!" screamed Pulcinella.

    "It is! It is!" shrieked Signora Rosaura, peeking in from the side of the stage.

    "It is Pinocchio! It is Pinocchio!" yelled all the Marionettes, pouring out of the wings. "It is Pinocchio. It is our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!"

    "Pinocchio, come up to me!" shouted Harlequin. "Come to the arms of your wooden brothers!"

They know him? More importantly-they are all talking flipping puppets. Why has the crowd not set them all aflame for being heathen monsters? Back then people flipped out if you had an odd wart, and no one's batting an eyelash at the talking lumps of wood?

    At such a loving invitation, Pinocchio, with one leap from the back of the orchestra, found himself in the front rows. With another leap, he was on the orchestra leader's head. With a third, he landed on the stage.

    It is impossible to describe the shrieks of joy, the warm embraces, the knocks, and the friendly greetings with which that strange company of dramatic actors and actresses received Pinocchio.

    It was a heart-rending spectacle, but the audience, seeing that the play had stopped, became angry and began to yell:

    "The play, the play, we want the play!"

Because all audiences are composed purely of irrational, heartless man-children.

    The yelling was of no use, for the Marionettes, instead of going on with their act, made twice as much racket as before, and, lifting up Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph.

Triumph? It's not as though they've accomplished anything! Pinocchio certainly hasn't accomplished a thing, and we just met the other puppets so we don't know anything about them! What have they got to be triumphant about?
 
    At that very moment, the Director came out of his room. He had such a fearful appearance that one look at him would fill you with horror. His beard was as black as pitch, and so long that it reached from his chin down to his feet. His mouth was as wide as an oven, his teeth like yellow fangs, and his eyes, two glowing red coals. In his huge, hairy hands, a long whip, made of green snakes and black cats' tails twisted together, swished through the air in a dangerous way.

Totally the kind of person you have running a performance with children as the target audience. I'm surprised he doesn't run a day-care center.

    At the unexpected apparition, no one dared even to breathe. One could almost hear a fly go by. Those poor Marionettes, one and all, trembled like leaves in a storm.

    "Why have you brought such excitement into my theater;" the huge fellow asked Pinocchio with the voice of an ogre suffering with a cold.

    "Believe me, your Honor, the fault was not mine."

    "Enough! Be quiet! I'll take care of you later."

    As soon as the play was over, the Director went to the kitchen, where a fine big lamb was slowly turning on the spit. More wood was needed to finish cooking it. He called Harlequin and Pulcinella and said to them:

    "Bring that Marionette to me! He looks as if he were made of well-seasoned wood. He'll make a fine fire for this spit."

YES. FINALLY.

    Harlequin and Pulcinella hesitated a bit. Then, frightened by a look from their master, they left the kitchen to obey him. A few minutes later they returned, carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling and squirming like an eel and crying pitifully:

    "Father, save me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Well, maybe you should have considered that before being a complete prat and running off like you did.

No picture for this one because it's full of puppets and puppets only, and they creep me the heck out.

Pinocchio Ch. 9

CHAPTER IX
Pinocchio sells his A-B-C book to pay his way into the Marionette Theater

Why am I not surprised?

     See Pinocchio hurrying off to school with his new A-B-C book under his arm! As he walked along, his brain was busy planning hundreds of wonderful things, building hundreds of castles in the air. Talking to himself, he said:

    "In school today, I'll learn to read, tomorrow to write, and the day after tomorrow I'll do arithmetic. Then, clever as I am, I can earn a lot of money. With the very first pennies I make, I'll buy Father a new cloth coat. Cloth, did I say? No, it shall be of gold and silver with diamond buttons.

That sounds incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention very poor at keeping out the cold.

 That poor man certainly deserves it; for, after all, isn't he in his shirt sleeves because he was good enough to buy a book for me? On this cold day, too! Fathers are indeed good to their children!"

    As he talked to himself, he thought he heard sounds of pipes and drums coming from a distance: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi. . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

What exactly kind of drum goes zum-zum?

    He stopped to listen. Those sounds came from a little street that led to a small village along the shore.

    "What can that noise be? What a nuisance that I have to go to school! Otherwise. . ."

    There he stopped, very much puzzled. He felt he had to make up his mind for either one thing or another. Should he go to school, or should he follow the pipes?

    "Today I'll follow the pipes, and tomorrow I'll go to school. There's always plenty of time to go to school," decided the little rascal at last, shrugging his shoulders.

To the surprise of absolutely no one.

    No sooner said than done. He started down the street, going like the wind. On he ran, and louder grew the sounds of pipe and drum: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi . . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

Seriously, what kind of drum is that?

    Suddenly, he found himself in a large square, full of people standing in front of a little wooden building painted in brilliant colors.

    "What is that house?" Pinocchio asked a little boy near him.

    "Read the sign and you'll know."

    "I'd like to read, but somehow I can't today."

Because you haven't, y'know, been to school?!

    "Oh, really? Then I'll read it to you. Know, then, that written in letters of fire I see the words: GREAT MARIONETTE THEATER.

    "When did the show start?"

    "It is starting now."

    "And how much does one pay to get in?"

    "Four pennies."

    Pinocchio, who was wild with curiosity to know what was going on inside, lost all his pride (what pride?) and said to the boy shamelessly:

    "Will you give me four pennies until tomorrow?"

    "I'd give them to you gladly," answered the other, poking fun at him, "but just now I can't give them to you."

    "For the price of four pennies, I'll sell you my coat."

    "If it rains, what shall I do with a coat of flowered paper? I could not take it off again."

    "Do you want to buy my shoes?"

    "They are only good enough to light a fire with."

    "What about my hat?"

    "Fine bargain, indeed! A cap of dough! The mice might come and eat it from my head!"

See, at least one kid recognizes the impracticality of a hat made of dough. Really, who does that?

    Pinocchio was almost in tears. He was just about to make one last offer, but he lacked the courage to do so. He hesitated, he wondered, he could not make up his mind. At last he said:

    "Will you give me four pennies for the book?"

    "I am a boy and I buy nothing from boys," said the little fellow with far more common sense than the Marionette.

    "I'll give you four pennies for your A-B-C book," said a rag picker who stood by.

Where did the rag picker get four pennies if he's poor enough to be a rag picker, and what would he want with the book?

    Then and there, the book changed hands. And to think that poor old Geppetto sat at home in his shirt sleeves, shivering with cold, having sold his coat to buy that little book for his son!

He could have been comfortable, fed and warm if he'd just made a fire out of the little monstrosity to begin with, rather than trying to raise such a horrid little beast.

No picture for this one out of a combination of not wanting to draw the puppet and having been busy making the first real post for my new blog, Faetouched in the head! Go check it out here:  http://faetouchedinthehead.blogspot.com/

Pinocchio Ch. 8

CHAPTER VIII
Geppetto makes Pinocchio a new pair of feet, and sells his coat to buy him an A-B-C book

Why aren't you burning the thing yet?!

     The Marionette, as soon as his hunger was appeased, started to grumble and cry that he wanted a new pair of feet.

GAWD, this kid is a whiner!

    But Master Geppetto, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him alone the whole morning.

Not nearly punishment enough if you ask me!

 After dinner he said to him:

    "Why should I make your feet over again? To see you run away from home once more?"

    "I promise you," answered the Marionette, sobbing, "that from now on I'll be good--"

    "Boys always promise that when they want something," said Geppetto.

Huh, showing a bit of brains now. Anyone who's ever had kids will probably be nodding in agreement with the guy here.

    "I promise to go to school every day, to study, and to succeed--"

    "Boys always sing that song when they want their own will."

    "But I am not like other boys! I am better than all of them and I always tell the truth. I promise you, Father, that I'll learn a trade, and I'll be the comfort and staff of your old age."

Heh, heheh. Better than all of them and always telling the truth. Yeah.

Why isn't this kid firewood yet?

    Geppetto, though trying to look very stern, felt his eyes fill with tears and his heart soften when he saw Pinocchio so unhappy. He said no more, but taking his tools and two pieces of wood, he set to work diligently.

And the people in the town earlier were accusing him of being a rough and mean old man who would terrorize the 'poor puppet boy'.

    In less than an hour the feet were finished, two slender, nimble little feet, strong and quick, modeled as if by an artist's hands.

    "Close your eyes and sleep!" Geppetto then said to the Marionette.

    Pinocchio closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, while Geppetto stuck on the two feet with a bit of glue melted in an eggshell, doing his work so well that the joint could hardly be seen.

    As soon as the Marionette felt his new feet, he gave one leap from the table and started to skip and jump around, as if he had lost his head from very joy.

    "To show you how grateful I am to you, Father, I'll go to school now. But to go to school I need a suit of clothes."

You're a puppet. Unless your father made you anatomically correct (and if he did....um, well then...) I don't think you have anything to worry about.

    Geppetto did not have a penny in his pocket, so he made his son a little suit of flowered paper, a pair of shoes from the bark of a tree, and a tiny cap from a bit of dough.

    Pinocchio ran to look at himself in a bowl of water, and he felt so happy that he said proudly:

    "Now I look like a gentleman."

Gentleman of that time were well known for running about with wads of bread dough on their heads.

    "Truly," answered Geppetto. "But remember that fine clothes do not make the man unless they be neat and clean."

    "Very true," answered Pinocchio, "but, in order to go to school, I still need something very important."

    "What is it?"

    "An A-B-C book."

    "To be sure! But how shall we get it?"

    "That's easy. We'll go to a bookstore and buy it."

    "And the money?"

    "I have none."

    "Neither have I," said the old man sadly.

    Pinocchio, although a happy boy always, became sad and downcast at these words. When poverty shows itself, even mischievous boys understand what it means.

    "What does it matter, after all?" cried Geppetto all at once, as he jumped up from his chair. Putting on his old coat, full of darns and patches, he ran out of the house without another word.

And he never returned.

    After a while he returned. (LIES!) In his hands he had the A-B-C book for his son, but the old coat was gone. The poor fellow was in his shirt sleeves and the day was cold.

    "Where's your coat, Father?"

    "I have sold it."

    "Why did you sell your coat?"

    "It was too warm."

    Pinocchio understood the answer in a twinkling, and, unable to restrain his tears, he jumped on his father's neck and kissed him over and over.

And the old man suffered a terrible infection from all the facial splinters he recieved.

No picture for this one because, again, it's just the puppet and the old man...I'm not very good at drawing old people and I really, REALLY don't like puppets.

Busy at the moment...

Sorry the posts are so far between right now, and with very little if any artwork for them-I'm really busy right now, working on a few different things with more stuff lined up, and there's a lot going on...plus I really don't care for Pinocchio, particularly not the original version of it which just makes me want to strangle the little wooden jerk, so I don't have a lot of motivation there other than the fact that I've already started it, so it'd be rather inconsistent if I just said 'screw it' and went to a different story. So, please bear with me until things get a bit more settled!

In the meantime, here's a look at one of the projects eating up a lot of my time:

This is the pony plush I'm making for my boyfriend's nephew...and yes, my laptop is purple, and yes that is a DND book back there on the shelf, I'm a geek. I'm hand embroidering the eyes on a piece of felt, to be sewn onto the plush, since the fuzzy cloth I've used to make the body and head is too thin to do embroidering on and would fall apart if I attempted it. The eyes look a smidge wonky right now because they were kind of scrunched over the desk edge. Embroidery isn't hard, but it is tedious. And yes I am filling in the white parts too, to keep it looking consistent. Faetouched is one of my Deviantart accounts, in case you were wondering about the watermark.

So, that's part of what I've been up to, I'll do my best to get onto a reasonable schedule soon!

Pinocchio Ch. 7

CHAPTER VII
Geppetto returns home and gives his own breakfast to the Marionette

....Dude. He's been a little prick. Why would you do that?

     The poor Marionette, who was still half asleep, had not yet found out that his two feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard his Father's voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door, but, as he did so, he staggered and fell headlong to the floor.

    In falling, he made as much noise as a sack of wood falling from the fifth story of a house.

....did the author try this out to figure out what exact volume would be appropriate? "CARLO, what are you doing?! It's three in the morning!" "Sorry, Mom, I just need to drop this sack of firewood from the next two stories up to figure out which one sounds the most like a living puppet falling down from trying to walk with it's feet gone!" "......honey, did you forget your medication?"

    "Open the door for me!" Geppetto shouted from the street.

    "Father, dear Father, I can't," answered the Marionette in despair, crying and rolling on the floor.

    "Why can't you?"

    "Because someone has eaten my feet."

    "And who has eaten them?"

Geppetto seems to be taking the whole 'someone ate his kid's feet' thing fairly calmly.

    "The cat," answered Pinocchio, seeing that little animal busily playing with some shavings in the corner of the room.

    "Open! I say," repeated Geppetto, "or I'll give you a sound whipping when I get in."

Regardless of whether or not he opens the door he still deserves a good beating for the crap he put you through!

    "Father, believe me, I can't stand up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall have to walk on my knees all my life."

    Geppetto, thinking that all these tears and cries were only other pranks of the Marionette, climbed up the side of the house and went in through the window.

    At first he was very angry, but on seeing Pinocchio stretched out on the floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and sorrowful. Picking him up from the floor, he fondled and caressed him, talking to him while the tears ran down his cheeks:

    "My little Pinocchio, my dear little Pinocchio! How did you burn your feet?"

Dear little nothing! Did you forget he got your butt thrown in JAIL for nothing?!

    "I don't know, Father, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one and I shall remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and the lightning so bright-- and I was hungry. And then the Talking Cricket said to me, `You deserve it; you were bad;' and I said to him, `Careful, Cricket;' and he said to me, `You are a Marionette and you have a wooden head;' and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. It was his own fault, for I didn't want to kill him.

HIS OWN FAULT THAT YOU'RE A PETULANT LITTLE BRAT AND THREW A HAMMER AT HIM?!

And I put the pan on the coals, but the Chick flew away and said, `I'll see you again! Remember me to the family.' And my hunger grew, and I went out, and the old man with a nightcap looked out of the window and threw water on me, and I came home and put my feet on the stove to dry them because I was still hungry, and I fell asleep and now my feet are gone but my hunger isn't! Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" And poor Pinocchio began to scream and cry so loudly that he could be heard for miles around.

    Geppetto, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled talk, except that the Marionette was hungry, felt sorry for him, and pulling three pears out of his pocket, offered them to him, saying:

    "These three pears were for my breakfast, but I give them to you gladly. Eat them and stop weeping."

    "If you want me to eat them, please peel them for me."

Smack. Him.

    "Peel them?" asked Geppetto, very much surprised. "I should never have thought, dear boy of mine, that you were so dainty and fussy about your food. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as children, we must accustom ourselves to eat of everything, for we never know what life may hold in store for us!"

    "You may be right," answered Pinocchio, "but I will not eat the pears if they are not peeled. I don't like them."

SMACK. THAT. UNGRATEFUL. LITTLE. WOODEN. ASS.

    And good old Geppetto took out a knife, peeled the three pears, and put the skins in a row on the table.

Pft, the people were saying he'd be cruel to him, but really if anything he's spoiling him!

    Pinocchio ate one pear in a twinkling and started to throw the core away, but Geppetto held his arm.

    "Oh, no, don't throw it away! Everything in this world may be of some use!"

    "But the core I will not eat!" cried Pinocchio in an angry tone.

    "Who knows?" repeated Geppetto calmly.

    And later the three cores were placed on the table next to the skins.

    Pinocchio had eaten the three pears, or rather devoured them. Then he yawned deeply, and wailed:

    "I'm still hungry."

Wailing AGAIN? Does he every speak normally?!

    "But I have no more to give you."

    "Really, nothing--nothing?"

    "I have only these three cores and these skins."

    "Very well, then," said Pinocchio, "if there is nothing else I'll eat them."

    At first he made a wry face, but, one after another, the skins and the cores disappeared.

    "Ah! Now I feel fine!" he said after eating the last one.

    "You see," observed Geppetto, "that I was right when I told you that one must not be too fussy and too dainty about food. My dear, we never know what life may have in store for us!"

This kid. Needs. To. Be. Smacked.

No picture for this one again since there's really nothing to draw but the puppet and old man, and as aforementioned, puppets creep me out. Sorry for that! In an upside, I'm going to get my slice of life comic/blog Typecast as Myself (here on blogspot) going soon, so if this sort of stuff really isn't your thing and you prefer funnier, more modern stuff, and like my artwork, I'll get that set up ASAP (this week may be a bit too busy with my boyfriend's brother and nephew being here, one of his brothers having a birthday and a lot of other stuff going on for me to get it up within the week, but once things calm down I'll try to get everything up and running!)

Pinocchio Ch. 6

CHAPTER VI
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!"

Hoo....

    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!