again and then said: “I understand. He belongs to the crawfish family.”
Pinocchio, mortified at being called a crawfish, indignantly cried out: “I am not a crawfish! Look at me; I am a marionette.”
“A marionette!” replied the fisherman. “Well, well! A marionette fish is a new kind to me. All the better; I shall eat you with more relish.”
“Eat me? But you do not understand! I am not a fish. Don’t you see that I reason and talk as you do?”
“It is true,” replied the fisherman. “As I see that you live in the water and must be a fish, and as you know how to reason and talk, I will respect your wisdom and will therefore let you decide.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, on account of my esteem and friendship for one who knows how to reason and talk, I will let you choose the way in which you are to be cooked. Should you like to be boiled, or fried in a pan with tomato sauce?”
“To tell you the truth,” replied Pinocchio, “if I must choose, I should prefer to be set free and to go home.”
“You are joking. Do you think I would lose the chance of eating so rare a fish? What I will
