“Like the seven sins,” said Pinocchio, still laughing.

“Did you hear that?  He has insulted us all.  He has called us sins.”

“Pinocchio, apologize for that, or look out!”

“Cuck—­oo!” said the Marionette, mocking them with his thumb to his nose.

“You’ll be sorry!”

“Cuck—­oo!”

“We’ll whip you soundly!”

“Cuck—­oo!”

“You’ll go home with a broken nose!”

“Cuck—­oo!”

“Very well, then!  Take that, and keep it for your supper,” called out the boldest of his tormentors.

And with the words, he gave Pinocchio a terrible blow on the head.

Pinocchio answered with another blow, and that was the signal for the beginning of the fray.  In a few moments, the fight raged hot and heavy on both sides.

Pinocchio, although alone, defended himself bravely.  With those two wooden feet of his, he worked so fast that his opponents kept at a respectful distance.  Wherever they landed, they left their painful mark and the boys could only run away and howl.

Enraged at not being able to fight the Marionette at close quarters, they started to throw all kinds of books at him.  Readers, geographies, histories, grammars flew in all directions.  But Pinocchio was keen of eye and swift of movement, and the books only passed over his head, landed in the sea, and disappeared.

The fish, thinking they might be good to eat, came to the top of the water in great numbers.  Some took a nibble, some took a bite, but no sooner had they tasted a page or two, than they spat them out with a wry face, as if to say: 

“What a horrid taste!  Our own food is so much better!”

Meanwhile, the battle waxed more and more furious.  At the noise, a large Crab crawled slowly out of the water and, with a voice that sounded like a trombone suffering from a cold, he cried out: 

“Stop fighting, you rascals!  These battles between boys rarely end well.  Trouble is sure to come to you!”

Poor Crab!  He might as well have spoken to the wind.  Instead of listening to his good advice, Pinocchio turned to him and said as roughly as he knew how: 

“Keep quiet, ugly Gab!  It would be better for you to chew a few cough drops to get rid of that cold you have.  Go to bed and sleep!  You will feel better in the morning.”

In the meantime, the boys, having used all their books, looked around for new ammunition.  Seeing Pinocchio’s bundle lying idle near-by, they somehow managed to get hold of it.

One of the books was a very large volume, an arithmetic text, heavily bound in leather.  It was Pinocchio’s pride.  Among all his books, he liked that one the best.

Thinking it would make a fine missile, one of the boys took hold of it and threw it with all his strength at Pinocchio’s head.  But instead of hitting the Marionette, the book struck one of the other boys, who, as pale as a ghost, cried out faintly:  “Oh, Mother, help!  I’m dying!” and fell senseless to the ground.