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PINOCCHIO 29
anything that he could gnaw. But he could
find nothing, nothing at all, absolutely nothing.
And in the meanwhile his hunger grew and
grew; and poor Pinocchio had no other relief
than yawning, and his yawns were so tremen¬
dous that sometimes his mouth almost reached
his ears. And after he had yawned he splut¬
tered, and felt as if he was going to faint.
Then he began to cry desperately, and he
said:
“The Talking-cricket was right. I did
wrong to rebel against my papa and to run
away from home. ... If my papa was here I
should not now be dying of yawning! Oh!
what a dreadful illness hunger is!”
Just then he thought he saw something in
the dust-heap—something round and white that
looked like a hen’s egg. To give a spring and
seize hold of it was the affair of a moment.
It was indeed an egg.
Pinocchio’s joy beats description; it can
only be imagined. Almost believing it must
be a dream he kept turning the egg over in
his hands, feeling it and kissing it. And as
he kissed it he said:
c And now, how shall I cook it? Shall I
make an omelet? ... No, it would be better to
cook it in a saucer!... Or would it not be more
savoury to fry it in the frying-pan? Or shall