CHAPTER 5

Pinocchio is hungry and looks for an egg to cook himself an omelet; but,

to his surprise, the omelet flies out of the window.

If the Cricket’s death scared Pinocchio at all, it was only for a very

few moments. For, as night came on, a queer, empty feeling at the pit of

his stomach reminded the Marionette that he had eaten nothing as yet.

A boy’s appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty

feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until

soon he was as ravenous as a bear.

Poor Pinocchio ran to the fireplace where the pot was boiling and

stretched out his hand to take the cover off, but to his amazement the

pot was only painted! Think how he felt! His long nose became at least

two inches longer.

He ran about the room, dug in all the boxes and drawers, and even looked

under the bed in search of a piece of bread, hard though it might be,

or a cookie, or perhaps a bit of fish. A bone left by a dog would have

tasted good to him! But he found nothing.

And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. The only relief poor Pinocchio

had was to yawn; and he certainly did yawn, such a big yawn that his

mouth stretched out to the tips of his ears. Soon he became dizzy and

faint. He wept and wailed to himself: “The Talking Cricket was right. It

was wrong of me to disobey Father and to run away from home. If he were

here now, I wouldn’t be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!”

Suddenly, he saw, among the sweepings in a corner, something round and

white that looked very much like a hen’s egg. In a jiffy he pounced upon

it. It was an egg.

The Marionette’s joy knew no bounds. It is impossible to describe it,

you must picture it to yourself. Certain that he was dreaming, he turned

the egg over and over in his hands, fondled it, kissed it, and talked to

it:

“And now, how shall I cook you? Shall I make an omelet? No, it is better

to fry you in a pan! Or shall I drink you? No, the best way is to fry

you in the pan. You will taste better.”

No sooner said than done. He placed a little pan over a foot warmer full

of hot coals. In the pan, instead of oil or butter, he poured a

little water. As soon as the water started to boil--tac!--he broke the

eggshell. But in place of the white and the yolk of the egg, a little

yellow Chick, fluffy and gay and smiling, escaped from it. Bowing

politely to Pinocchio, he said to him:

“Many, many thanks, indeed, Mr. Pinocchio, for having saved me the

trouble of breaking my shell! Good-by and good luck to you and remember

me to the family!”

With these words he spread out his wings and, darting to the open

window, he flew away into space till he was out of sight.

The poor Marionette stood as if turned to stone, with wide eyes, open

mouth, and the empty halves of the egg-shell in his hands. When he came

to himself, he began to cry and shriek at the top of his lungs, stamping

his feet on the ground and wailing all the while:

“The Talking Cricket was right! If I had not run away from home and if

Father were here now, I should not be dying of hunger. Oh, how horrible

it is to be hungry!”

And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing

to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the near-by

village, in the hope of finding some charitable person who might give

him a bit of bread.