of life: that in order to get money honestly, you must work for it—with your hands or brain.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said the puppet, who was beginning to tremble with fear.

“Have you ever noticed that in fables and parables foxes are always portrayed as clever, crafty creatures whose motives are always suspect? That's because usually they really do have ulterior motives.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you've been hoodwinked! I mean that you're the victim of a carefully calculated hoax! Let me spell it out for you. First the fox and his accomplice—that despicable little parasite—beguiled you with fantastic stories of overnight wealth. Then, while you were taking a walk, they returned here in a great hurry. They took the four gold pieces you'd buried and absconded.”

Pinocchio's mouth opened wide. He refused to believe what the parrot said and began to claw maniacally at the earth. But if he really expected to find sprouting gold coins buried in the soil, he was soon disabused of that notion. He dug and dug until the hole was as big as he was, but no coins were found.

In desperation, he ran to the city and went straight to the courthouse to report the theft. But he had to wait thirty minutes on a hard bench before he could see the judge. He found a law book that someone had neglected to put away sitting on the bench next to him, and he busied himself by thumbing through it. But he couldn't make sense of its convoluted legal language. He finally found himself standing before the judge, who had a flowing white beard and wore gold-rimmed glasses.

Pinocchio recounted the deception perpetrated against him without leaving out a single detail. For a while the judge listened with great patience and seemed very interested in the strange saga. Every so often he stroked his beard or removed his glasses. Then suddenly he put his glasses back on and said loudly and stiffly, “Don't elaborate so much; just present those facts that are pertinent to the actual crime.”

Pinocchio, flustered by the judge's harsh tone, quickly finished by mumbling, “The fox and the cat were the thieves.”

“Alleged thieves,” answered the judge brusquely, reaching out and ringing a bell.

At the sound, two large work dogs appeared, dressed like policemen. Pointing to Pinocchio, the judge said, “The gist of this puppet's story is that a fox and cat robbed him of four gold pieces—or so he claims. While there's no legal precedent for a case concerning a victimized puppet, I do know that a case like this—where there's no preponderance of evidence for either side—can be tied up in