“I laugh at your story!” cried the man angrily.  “I know that I spent four cents to get you and I want my money back.  Do you know what I can do; I am going to take you to the market once more and sell you as dry firewood.”

“Very well, sell me.  I am satisfied,” said Pinocchio.  But as he spoke, he gave a quick leap and dived into the sea.  Swimming away as fast as he could, he cried out, laughing: 

“Good-by, Master.  If you ever need a skin for your drum, remember me.”

He swam on and on.  After a while, he turned around again and called louder than before: 

“Good-by, Master.  If you ever need a piece of good dry firewood, remember me.”

In a few seconds he had gone so far he could hardly be seen.  All that could be seen of him was a very small black dot moving swiftly on the blue surface of the water, a little black dot which now and then lifted a leg or an arm in the air.  One would have thought that Pinocchio had turned into a porpoise playing in the sun.

After swimming for a long time, Pinocchio saw a large rock in the middle of the sea, a rock as white as marble.  High on the rock stood a little Goat bleating and calling and beckoning to the Marionette to come to her.

There was something very strange about that little Goat.  Her coat was not white or black or brown as that of any other goat, but azure, a deep brilliant color that reminded one of the hair of the lovely maiden.

Pinocchio’s heart beat fast, and then faster and faster.  He redoubled his efforts and swam as hard as he could toward the white rock.  He was almost halfway over, when suddenly a horrible sea monster stuck its head out of the water, an enormous head with a huge mouth, wide open, showing three rows of gleaming teeth, the mere sight of which would have filled you with fear.

Do you know what it was?

That sea monster was no other than the enormous Shark, which has often been mentioned in this story and which, on account of its cruelty, had been nicknamed “The Attila of the Sea” by both fish and fishermen.

Poor Pinocchio!  The sight of that monster frightened him almost to death!  He tried to swim away from him, to change his path, to escape, but that immense mouth kept coming nearer and nearer.

“Hasten, Pinocchio, I beg you!” bleated the little Goat on the high rock.

And Pinocchio swam desperately with his arms, his body, his legs, his feet.

“Quick, Pinocchio, the monster is coming nearer!”

Pinocchio swam faster and faster, and harder and harder.

“Faster, Pinocchio!  The monster will get you!  There he is!  There he is!  Quick, quick, or you are lost!”

Pinocchio went through the water like a shot—­swifter and swifter.  He came close to the rock.  The Goat leaned over and gave him one of her hoofs to help him up out of the water.

Alas!  It was too late.  The monster overtook him and the Marionette found himself in between the rows of gleaming white teeth.  Only for a moment, however, for the Shark took a deep breath and, as he breathed, he drank in the Marionette as easily as he would have sucked an egg.  Then he swallowed him so fast that Pinocchio, falling down into the body of the fish, lay stunned for a half hour.