No sooner said than done. They bound his hands and, slipping a noose around his throat, hanged him to a branch of a tree called the Grand Oak. Then they sat down on the ground, waiting until the marionette should make his last kick. After three hours, however, the marionette’s eyes were still open and his mouth was closed, and he kicked harder than ever.
Finally, annoyed by this long delay, they turned to Pinocchio and said to him, laughing out loud: “Good-by until to-morrow morning! When we return here we hope that you will be polite enough to die and have your mouth opened wide.” And they went away.
Meanwhile a great wind began to blow Pinocchio backward and forward, just like a large bell. And while he was swinging the rope tightened and tightened so that he could hardly swallow. Little by little his eyes grew dim. Although he felt death approaching, yet he hoped every moment that some one would come and save him. But when he found that no one would help him he remembered his poor papa and stammered, “Oh, my Papa, if you were only here now!” But he had no breath to say any more. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched his legs, and, with a last shudder, remained as if dead.
