Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer, and awakens the next day
with his feet all burned off
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.
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.
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.
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.