“But where is that blessed shore?” asked the little old man, more and more worried as he tried to pierce the faraway shadows. “Here I am searching on all sides and I see nothing but sea and sky.”
“I see the shore,” said the Marionette. “Remember, Father, that I am like a cat. I see better at night than by day.”
Poor Pinocchio pretended to be peaceful and contented, but he was far from that. He was beginning to feel discouraged, his strength was leaving him, and his breathing was becoming more and more labored. He felt he could not go on much longer, and the shore was still far away.
He swam a few more strokes. Then he turned to Geppetto and cried out weakly:
“Help me, Father! Help, for I am dying!”
Father and son were really about to drown when they heard a voice like a guitar out of tune call from the sea:
“What is the trouble?”
“It is I and my poor father.”
“I know the voice. You are Pinocchio.”
“Exactly. And you?”