'But where is this blessed shore?' asked the little old man, becoming still more frightened, and screwing up his eyes as tailors do when they wish to thread a needle. 'I have been looking in every direction and I see nothing but the sky and the sea.'
'But I see the shore as well,' said the puppet. 'You must know that I am like a cat: I see better by night than by day.'
Poor Pinocchio was making a pretence of being in good spirits, but in reality . . . in reality he was beginning to feel discouraged: his strength was failing, he was gasping and panting for breath . . . he could do no more, and the shore was still far off.
He swam until he had no breath left; then he turned his head to Geppetto and said in broken words:
'Papa . . . help me . . . I am dying! . . .'
The father and son were on the point of drowning when they heard a voice like a guitar out of tune saying:
'Who is it that is dying?'
'It is I, and my poor father! . . .'
'I know that voice! You are Pinocchio!'
'Precisely: and you?'
'I am the Tunny, your prison companion in the body of the Dog-fish.'
'And how did you manage to escape?'
