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a bite of fish and I'll go in peace.”

“Get out, I say!” repeated the fisherman. And he drew back his foot to give the dog a kick.

Then the dog, who was far too hungry to care about being kicked, turned in a rage toward the fisherman and bared his terrible fangs. Pinocchio, terrified though he was, recognized the dog as the one he'd saved from drowning. In a pitiful little voice the puppet called out, “Save me! Save me!”

The dog immediately recognized Pinocchio's voice and was amazed to see that it came from the little flour-covered bundle that the fisherman held in his hand. With one great leap, the dog grasped that bundle in his mouth and, holding it carefully between his teeth, raced through the door.

The fisherman, angry at seeing his precious meal snatched from under his nose, ran after the dog, but a bad fit of coughing made him stop and turn back.

Meanwhile, the dog, as soon as he'd found the road that led to the village, stopped and dropped Pinocchio softly to the ground.

“How can I thank you, “ asked the puppet.

“It's not necessary,” answered the dog. “You saved me once, and what's given is always returned. We all must help each other in this world.”

“But how did you get in that cave?”

“I was lying here on the sand more dead than alive, when the aroma of sizzling oil and fresh fish came to me and whetted my appetite. I followed it into the cave. Oh, if I had come a moment later!”

“Don't speak of it,” wailed Pinocchio, still trembling with fright. “Don't say a word. If you'd come a moment later, I would have been fried and eaten. It makes me shiver just to think of it.”

The dog held out his paw to the puppet, who shook it heartily, feeling that now he and the dog were good friends. Then they said good-bye and the dog went home.

Pinocchio, left alone, now looked around and saw a little cabin built of logs and roofed with corrugated metal. An old man sat at the door sunning himself. Walking up to him, the puppet said, “Excuse me, sir, but have you heard anything of a poor schoolboy with a wounded temple?”

“Yes, the boy was brought to this cabin and now—”

“Now he's dead?” Pinocchio interrupted sorrowfully.

“No, he's alive and he's already returned home. He's fine.”

“Really? Really?” cried the puppet, jumping with joy. “Then the abrasions weren't really serious?”

“But they might have been,” answered the old man, “for a heavy book was thrown at his head.”

“Who threw it?”

“A schoolmate of his named Pinocchio.”

“And who is this Pinocchio?” asked the puppet, pretending ignorance.

“They say that he's a mischief-maker. And they say that he has

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