For the next few days the poor Emperor and King of all African kings was compelled to exhibit himself, and to repeat his performances before thousands of eyes eager to see his strange accomplishments. He was compelled from morning till night to hear the insults of the boys and the laughter of the men. All this made him very miserable.
What annoyed him most was the warning he received not to refuse to eat whenever food was brought to him. “That is what the monkeys and the elephants do,” said the marionette sorrowfully, recalling what he and his school companions had seen when they went to the circus.
It is unnecessary to say that he thought of his father, of his dear Fatina, and of his home. They were constantly in his mind. Slowly, slowly it dawned upon him that this way of living could no longer be endured, and finally he was convinced that if he did not soon see his little home, if he did not soon eat the hard, black crust given him by the loving hands of his father, if he did not soon drink the water from his own well, he should die of a broken heart.
“My home, my home!” he cried, the tears rolling down his cheeks. “Home, my home!” he repeated, no longer thinking of the gold and silver for which he had come to Africa.
“I want to see my father again.” And then he stood erect in his cage. His head went through the top of it and the side fell apart. Away he leaped over the heads of the crowd,—away like lightning! Out of the village, across the plains, beyond the hills! Compared with him, the swift south wind would have seemed no faster than a snail.
He ran and ran and ran. Nor did he make an end of running until he reached the wide waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
There he stopped. He looked back at Africa, the land of all his empty dreams; then flinging himself into the water, he said aloud, “I will return when I have a little more sense.”
At that moment a familiar voice shouted to him: “Good Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!”
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