THE FLYING EGG
Night was coming on and Pinocchio, remembering that he had eaten nothing
all day, began to feel a gnawing in his stomach that very much resembled
appetite.
After a few minutes his appetite had become hunger and in no time his
hunger became ravenous.
Poor Pinocchio ran quickly to the fireplace, where a saucepan was
boiling, and was going to take off the lid to see what was in it, but
the saucepan was only painted on the wall. You can imagine his feelings.
His nose, which was already long, became longer by at least three
inches.
He then began to run about the room, searching in the drawers and in
every imaginable place, in hopes of finding a bit of bread. If it was
only a bit of dry bread, a crust, a bone left by a dog, a little moldy
pudding of Indian corn, a fish bone, a cherry stone--in fact, anything
that he could gnaw. But he could find nothing, nothing at all,
absolutely nothing.
And in the meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. Poor Pinocchio had no
other relief than yawning, and his yawns were so tremendous that
sometimes his mouth almost reached his ears. And after he had yawned he
spluttered and felt as if he were going to faint.
Then he began to cry desperately, and he said:
"The Talking-Cricket was right. I did wrong to rebel against my papa and
to run away from home. If my papa were here I should not now be dying of
yawning! Oh! what a dreadful illness hunger is!"
Just then he thought he saw something in the dust-heap--something round
and white that looked like a hen's egg. To give a spring and seize hold
of it was the affair of a moment. It was indeed an egg.
Pinocchio's joy was beyond description. Almost believing it must be a
dream he kept turning the egg over in his hands, feeling it and kissing
it. And as he kissed it he said:
"And now, how shall I cook it? Shall I make an omelet? No, it would be
better to cook it in a saucer! Or would it not be more savory to fry it
in the frying-pan? Or shall I simply boil it? No, the quickest way of
all is to cook it in a saucer: I am in such a hurry to eat it!"
Without loss of time he placed an earthenware saucer on a brazier full
of red-hot embers. Into the saucer instead of oil or butter he poured a
little water; and when the water began to smoke, tac! he broke the
egg-shell over it and let the contents drop in. But, instead of the
white and the yolk a little chicken popped out very gay and polite.
Making a beautiful courtesy it said to him:
"A thousand thanks, Master Pinocchio, for saving me the trouble of
breaking the shell. Adieu until we meet again. Keep well, and my best
compliments to all at home!"
Thus saying, it spread its wings, darted through the open window and,
flying away, was lost to sight.
The poor puppet stood as if he had been bewitched, with his eyes fixed,
his mouth open, and the egg-shell in his hand. Recovering, however, from
his first stupefaction, he began to cry and scream, and to stamp his
feet on the floor in desperation, and amidst his sobs he said:
"Ah, indeed, the Talking-Cricket was right. If I had not run away from
home, and if my papa were here, I should not now be dying of hunger! Oh!
what a dreadful illness hunger is!"
And, as his stomach cried out more than ever and he did not know how to
quiet it, he thought he would leave the house and make an excursion in
the neighborhood in hopes of finding some charitable person who would
give him a piece of bread.
[Illustration]