es
and shouts and handclappings were heard on all sides.

At all that noise, Pinocchio lifted his head and raised his eyes. There,
in front of him, in a box sat a beautiful woman. Around her neck she
wore a long gold chain, from which hung a large medallion. On the
medallion was painted the picture of a Marionette.

"That picture is of me! That beautiful lady is my Fairy!" said Pinocchio
to himself, recognizing her. He felt so happy that he tried his best to
cry out:

"Oh, my Fairy! My own Fairy!"

But instead of words, a loud braying was heard in the theater, so loud
and so long that all the spectators--men, women, and children, but
especially the children--burst out laughing.

Then, in order to teach the Donkey that it was not good manners to bray
before the public, the Manager hit him on the nose with the handle of
the whip.

The poor little Donkey stuck out a long tongue and licked his nose for a
long time in an effort to take away the pain.

And what was his grief when on looking up toward the boxes, he saw that
the Fairy had disappeared!

He felt himself fainting, his eyes filled with tears, and he wept
bitterly. No one knew it, however, least of all the Manager, who,
cracking his whip, cried out:

"Bravo, Pinocchio! Now show us how gracefully you can jump through the
rings."

Pinocchio tried two or three times, but each time he came near the ring,
he found it more to his taste to go under it. The fourth time, at a look
from his master he leaped through it, but as he did so his hind legs
caught in the ring and he fell to the floor in a heap.

When he got up, he was lame and could hardly limp as far as the stable.

"Pinocchio! We want Pinocchio! We want the little Donkey!" cried the
boys from the orchestra, saddened by the accident.

No one saw Pinocchio again that evening.

The next morning the veterinary--that is, the animal doctor--declared
that he would be lame for the rest of his life.

"What do I want with a lame donkey?" said the Manager to the stableboy.
"Take him to the market and sell him."

When they reached the square, a buyer was soon found.

"How much do you ask for that little lame Donkey?" he asked.

"Four dollars."

"I'll give you four cents. Don't think I'm buying him for work. I want
only his skin. It looks very tough and I can use it to make myself a
drumhead. I belong to a musical band in my village and I need a drum."

I leave it to you, my dear children, to picture t