reaching the oak tree, you will find a poor,
half-dead Marionette stretched out on the grass. Lift him up tenderly,
place him on the silken cushions of the coach, and bring him here to
me."

The Poodle, to show that he understood, wagged his silk-covered tail two
or three times and set off at a quick pace.

In a few minutes, a lovely little coach, made of glass, with lining as
soft as whipped cream and chocolate pudding, and stuffed with canary
feathers, pulled out of the stable. It was drawn by one hundred pairs
of white mice, and the Poodle sat on the coachman's seat and snapped his
whip gayly in the air, as if he were a real coachman in a hurry to get
to his destination.

In a quarter of an hour the coach was back. The Fairy, who was waiting
at the door of the house, lifted the poor little Marionette in her arms,
took him to a dainty room with mother-of-pearl walls, put him to bed,
and sent immediately for the most famous doctors of the neighborhood to
come to her.

One after another the doctors came, a Crow, and Owl, and a Talking
Cricket.

"I should like to know, signori," said the Fairy, turning to the three
doctors gathered about Pinocchio's bed, "I should like to know if this
poor Marionette is dead or alive."

At this invitation, the Crow stepped out and felt Pinocchio's pulse, his
nose, his little toe. Then he solemnly pronounced the following words:

"To my mind this Marionette is dead and gone; but if, by any evil
chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is still
alive!"

"I am sorry," said the Owl, "to have to contradict the Crow, my famous
friend and colleague. To my mind this Marionette is alive; but if, by
any evil chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is
wholly dead!"

"And do you hold any opinion?" the Fairy asked the Talking Cricket.

"I say that a wise doctor, when he does not know what he is talking
about, should know enough to keep his mouth shut. However, that
Marionette is not a stranger to me. I have known him a long time!"

Pinocchio, who until then had been very quiet, shuddered so hard that
the bed shook.

"That Marionette," continued the Talking Cricket, "is a rascal of the
worst kind."

Pinocchio opened his eyes and closed them again.

"He is rude, lazy, a runaway."

Pinocchio hid his face under the sheets.

"That Marionette is a disobedient son who is breaking his father's
heart!"

Long shuddering sobs were heard, cries, and