"My boy," answered the calm little animal—"my boy, I am a snail, and snails are never in a hurry."
And the window was shut again.
Shortly afterwards midnight struck; then one o'clock, then two o'clock, and the door remained still closed.
Pinocchio at last, losing all patience, seized the knocker in a rage, intending to give a blow that would resound through the house. But the knocker, which was iron, turned suddenly into an eel and, slipping out of his hands, disappeared in the stream of water that ran down the middle of the street.
"Ah! is that it?" shouted Pinocchio, blind with rage. "Since the knocker has disappeared, I will kick instead with all my might."
And, drawing a little back, he gave a tremendous kick against the house door. The blow was indeed so violent that his foot went through the wood and stuck; and when he tried to draw it back again it was trouble thrown away, for it remained fixed like a nail that has been hammered down.
Think of poor Pinocchio! He was obliged to spend the remainder of the night with one foot on the ground and the other in the air.
The following morning at daybreak the door was at last opened. The clever little Snail had taken only nine hours to come down from the fourth story to the house-door. It is evident that her exertions must have been great.
"What are you doing with your foot stuck in the door?" she asked the puppet.
"It was an accident. Do try, beautiful little Snail, if you cannot release me from this torture."