before! . . . Does it not grieve you to see me
 alone and abandoned by everybody? . . . If
 assassins come they will hang me again to the
 branch of a tree... and then Í should die in¬
 deed. What do you imagine that I can do here
 alone in the world?) Now that I have lost you
 and my papa, who will give me food? Where
 shall I go to sleep at night? Who will make me
 a new jacket? Oh, it would be better, a hun¬
 dred times better, that I should die also! Yes,
 I want to die... ih! ih! ih!”
 
And in his despair he tried to tear his hair;
 but his hair, being made of wood, he could not
 even have the satisfaction of sticking his fingers
 into it.
 
Just then a large Pigeon flew over his head,
 and stopping with distended wings called down
 to him from a great height:
 
"" "Tell me, child, what are you doing there? ”’
 
“Don’t you see? JI am cryig!”’ said
 Pinocchio, raising his head towards the voice
 and rubbing his eyes with his jacket.
 
" "Tell me,” continued the Pigeon, " amongst
 your companions, do you happen to know a
 puppet who is called Pinocchio? ”