butterflies and climb trees and take the little birds out of their nests.”
“Poor little stupid thing! Do you not know that in doing so you will become a donkey, and that everybody will make fun of you?”
“Calm yourself, bad Cricket of ill omen!” cried Pinocchio.
But the Cricket, who was a patient philosopher, instead of becoming angry at this impertinence, continued in the same tone of voice: “And if it does not please you to go to school, why not at least learn a trade, so as to be able to earn honestly a piece of bread?”
“Do you wish me to tell you?” replied Pinocchio, who began to lose patience; “because among the trades of the world there is only one that suits my genius.”
“And what trade may that be?”
“That of eating, drinking, sleeping, and amusing myself, and of living, from morning to night, an easy life.”
“Those who live that way,” said the Talking Cricket with his usual calmness, “always end in the hospital or in prison.”
“Take care, bad Cricket of ill omen! If you make me angry I pity you.”
“Poor Pinocchio! you make me pity you.”
