f lost, he climbed up a giant pine tree and sat there
to see what he could see. The Assassins tried to climb also, but they
slipped and fell.

Far from giving up the chase, this only spurred them on. They gathered a
bundle of wood, piled it up at the foot of the pine, and set fire to it.
In a twinkling the tree began to sputter and burn like a candle blown by
the wind. Pinocchio saw the flames climb higher and higher. Not wishing
to end his days as a roasted Marionette, he jumped quickly to the ground
and off he went, the Assassins close to him, as before.

Dawn was breaking when, without any warning whatsoever, Pinocchio found
his path barred by a deep pool full of water the color of muddy coffee.

What was there to do? With a "One, two, three!" he jumped clear across
it. The Assassins jumped also, but not having measured their distance
well--splash!!!--they fell right into the middle of the pool. Pinocchio
who heard the splash and felt it, too, cried out, laughing, but never
stopping in his race:

"A pleasant bath to you, signori!"

He thought they must surely be drowned and turned his head to see. But
there were the two somber figures still following him, though their
black sacks were drenched and dripping with water.

CHAPTER 15

The Assassins chase Pinocchio, catch him, and hang him to the branch of
a giant oak tree.

As he ran, the Marionette felt more and more certain that he would have
to give himself up into the hands of his pursuers. Suddenly he saw a
little cottage gleaming white as the snow among the trees of the forest.

"If I have enough breath left with which to reach that little house, I
may be saved," he said to himself.

Not waiting another moment, he darted swiftly through the woods, the
Assassins still after him.

After a hard race of almost an hour, tired and out of breath, Pinocchio
finally reached the door of the cottage and knocked. No one answered.

He knocked again, harder than before, for behind him he heard the steps
and the labored breathing of his persecutors. The same silence followed.

As knocking was of no use, Pinocchio, in despair, began to kick and bang
against the door, as if he wanted to break it. At the noise, a window
opened and a lovely maiden looked out. She had azure hair and a face
white as wax. Her eyes were closed and her hands crossed on her breast.
With a voice so weak that it hardly could be heard, she whispered:

"No one lives in this house. Everyon