“Oh, mercy!” cried the marionette. And the lion gave another dreadful roar which seemed to say: “Mercy indeed! I have you now, you little thief.”
“Dear lion,” pleaded Pinocchio, “have pity on a poor orphan lad who is nearly starving!”
The lion roared still louder. “Who has given you permission to take what belongs to another without having earned it by useful and honest work? In this world he who does not work must starve.”
“You are right, my dear lion, you are right. I am ready to pay to the last cent for all the honey I eat, but please don’t seem so angry or I shall die of fear.”
Then the lion stopped roaring, and sitting down upon the ground, he looked at the marionette as if to say: “Well, what are you going to do about it? Are you coming down or not?”
“Listen, my dear lion,” answered Pinocchio; “so long as you stay there, I shall not come down. If you want me to go away and leave the honey, remove yourself a hundred miles or so, and then I will obey you.”
The lion did not move.
For almost an hour Pinocchio sat glued to the tree, not daring to eat the honey or to come down to the waiting lion. The hot rays of the sun beat upon him. He felt that he must die, for hunger, fear, and heat seemed ready to destroy him.
“Surely there must be away out of this,” he thought. “That lion must have in him some spark of kindness. He has made up his mind to keep me company, and perhaps it is my duty to thank him.”
Then the marionette raised his hand to ask permission to speak. It would have been better had he kept still.