“Then who has taught you to steal other people’s things?”
“I was hungry.”
“Hunger, my boy, is not a good reason for stealing anybody’s things.”
“That is true! that is true!” cried Pinocchio, weeping; “and another time I will not do it.”
Just here the conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps that came nearer and nearer. The owner of the field had come on tiptoe to see if one of the polecats that ate his chickens at night had been caught. He was greatly surprised when, taking out a dark lantern, he saw, instead of a polecat, a boy.
“Ah, you little thief!” said the angry farmer. “Then you are the one that carries away my chickens!”
“I? No,” cried Pinocchio, sobbing. “I went into the field for a bunch of grapes.”
“He who steals grapes is also capable of stealing chickens. Leave it to me; I will give you a lesson that you will remember for some time.”
He opened the trap, took the marionette by the back of the neck like a kitten, and carried him to his house. When he reached his door he said to Pinocchio: “Now it is late and I want to go to bed. We will settle our affairs to-morrow. Mean-
