ort time, for just then he heard
someone saying:

"Cri-cri-cri!"

"Who is calling me?" asked Pinocchio, greatly frightened.

"I am!"

Pinocchio turned and saw a large cricket crawling slowly up the wall.

"Tell me, Cricket, who are you?"

"I am the Talking Cricket and I have been living in this room for more
than one hundred years."

"Today, however, this room is mine," said the Marionette, "and if you
wish to do me a favor, get out now, and don't turn around even once."

"I refuse to leave this spot," answered the Cricket, "until I have told
you a great truth."

"Tell it, then, and hurry."

"Woe to boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home!
They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they
will be very sorry for it."

"Sing on, Cricket mine, as you please. What I know is, that tomorrow,
at dawn, I leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will
happen to me which happens to all other boys and girls. They are sent to
school, and whether they want to or not, they must study. As for me,
let me tell you, I hate to study! It's much more fun, I think, to chase
after butterflies, climb trees, and steal birds' nests."

"Poor little silly! Don't you know that if you go on like that, you
will grow into a perfect donkey and that you'll be the laughingstock of
everyone?"

"Keep still, you ugly Cricket!" cried Pinocchio.

But the Cricket, who was a wise old philosopher, instead of being
offended at Pinocchio's impudence, continued in the same tone:

"If you do not like going to school, why don't you at least learn a
trade, so that you can earn an honest living?"

"Shall I tell you something?" asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose
patience. "Of all the trades in the world, there is only one that really
suits me."

"And what can that be?"

"That of eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and wandering around from
morning till night."

"Let me tell you, for your own good, Pinocchio," said the Talking
Cricket in his calm voice, "that those who follow that trade always end
up in the hospital or in prison."

"Careful, ugly Cricket! If you make me angry, you'll be sorry!"

"Poor Pinocchio, I am sorry for you."

"Why?"

"Because you are a Marionette and, what is much worse, you have a wooden
head."

At these last words, Pinocchio jumped up in a fury, took a hammer from
the bench, and threw it with all his strength at the Talking Cricket.

Perhaps he did