Alidoro laughingly held out his paw to the Marionette, who shook it heartily, feeling that now he and the Dog were good friends. Then they bid each other good-by and the Dog went home.
Pinocchio, left alone, walked toward a little hut near by, where an old man sat at the door sunning himself, and asked:
“Tell me, good man, have you heard anything of a poor boy with a wounded head, whose name was Eugene?”
“The boy was brought to this hut and now—”
“Now he is dead?” Pinocchio interrupted sorrowfully.
“No, he is now alive and he has already returned home.”
“Really? Really?” cried the Marionette, jumping around with joy. “Then the wound was not serious?”
“But it might have been—and even mortal,” answered the old man, “for a heavy book was thrown at his head.”
“And who threw it?”
“A schoolmate of his, a certain Pinocchio.”