PINOCCHIOS FATHER
Pinocchio blushed with shame.
Then you are the marionette Pinocchio?
Upon hearing himself addressed in this familiar way, Pinocchio felt a
little annoyed, but recalling the unsettled account, he thought it best
to answer politely that he was Pinocchio.
I am pleased, continued the man; I am very much pleased, because I
knew your father.
You knew my father? exclaimed the marionette.
Certainly I knew him! I was a servant in his house before you were
born.
In my house as a servant? When has father Geppetto had servants?
asked the marionette, his eyes wide with surprise.
But who said Geppetto? Geppetto is not your fathers name.
Oh, indeed! Well, then, what is his name?
Your fathers name is not Geppetto, but Collodi. A wonderful man, my
boy.
Pinocchio understood less and less. It was strange, he thought, to have
come to Africa to learn the story of his family. He listened with
astonishment to all that the innkeeper said.
Remember, however, that even if you are not really the son of the good
Geppetto, it does not follow that you should forget the care he has
given you. What gratitude have you shown him? You ran away from home
without even telling him. Who knows how unhappy the poor old man may
be! You never will understand what suffering you cause your parents.
Such blockheads as you are not fit to have parents. They work from
morning till night so that you may want for nothing, and may grow up to
be good and wise men, useful to yourselves, to your family, and to your
country. What do you do? Nothing! You are worthless!
Pinocchio listened very thoughtfully. He had never expected that in
Africa he was to hear so many disagreeable truths, and he was on the
verge of weeping.
For your fathers sake you have been let off easily. From now on you
may regard this as your home. I am not very rich, and I need a boy to
help me. You will do. You may as well begin to work at once. And he
handed the marionette a large broom.
Pinocchio was vexed at this, but the thought of the black policemen and
the unsettled bill cooled his anger, and he swept as well as he knew
how. From a gentleman to a sweeper! What fine progress I have made!
he thought, as the tears rolled down his cheeks.
If my father were to see me now, or my good Fairy, or my companions at
school! What a fine picture I should make! And he continued to sweep
and dust.