"Oh, do you really want to see it, Mollica?"

"You heard what I said."

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"That you will take charge of it and see that it gets to its address."

"All right. Hand it here, you puppy. Listen to what he writes:

"MR. FRANZ HAPSBURG,

In his house in Austria,

"You wrote in the papers that the Italian soldiers are rascals because they kill civilians and wounded Ostrians. I want you to know that you are mistaken, because as you know the traitor was killed by a pistol that shot off Ostrian bullets by itself while it was in my hands who am not in the army. That's how our soldiers found the traitor already dead, the traitor who made signals from the church tower, so that the sh.e.l.ls fell on the ruins. As for the wounded in the horspital I can a.s.shure you that they were better off than me and you, and that they had guns between their leggs under the sheets. He who tells lies goes to h.e.l.l and you will certainly go there, but just now I'd like to send you there myself who don't give a hang for you.

"PINOCCHIO."

I can't describe to you what took place after the letter had been read.

They gave the poor youngster such a feast that they had to put him to bed in a hammock. Before Private Mollica went to sleep he kept repeating: "I have promised to take your letter to Franz Joseph....

You see if I don't send it through all the ranks till it reaches his own hands. On Mollica's honor!... I have promised to take your letter to Franz Joseph!"

CHAPTER IV

_How Pinocchio Learned That War Changes Everything--Even the Meaning of Words_

The bersaglieri had pa.s.sed the Isonzo and were intrenched at ---- (censor). You certainly know now what the Isonzo is, because war teaches geography better than do teachers in the schools; so I don't intend to explain it to you. Pinocchio had followed his friends, and I a.s.sure you no one regretted his coming. When there were orders to carry to the rear or purchases to be made, it was Pinocchio who attended to them. Slender as a lizard and quick as a squirrel, he was out of the trenches without being seen and slipped along the furrows and ditches and the bushes with marvelous dexterity. He had been absolutely forbidden to approach the loopholes, and when they caught him about to disobey he got such boxes on the ears that he had to rub them for half an hour afterward. Mollica, and the Bersaglierino in particular, kept their eyes on him, so that they punished him often.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ONE DAY HE MANAGED TO CAPTURE A PIG AND TO DRAG IT ALONG BEHIND HIM]

"I'd like to know why it is you two can stand with your noses against the hole and I mayn't."

"Because of the _mosquitoes_."

"Who cares for them? I haven't the slightest fear of mosquitoes."

But when he saw them carry off a poor soldier hit in the middle of the forehead and understood that the "mosquitoes" were Austrian bullets, he gained a little wisdom. While the soldiers were suffering from the trench life which restrained their ardent natures, keeping them still and watchful, the rogue of a Pinocchio amused himself with all kinds of jokes. Dirty as he could be, he was always grubbing with his nails in the ground to deepen the trench, to make some new breastwork, to build up an escarp. If they sent him out to find logs of wood to repair the roofs of the dugouts he would come back laden with all sorts of things. Hens and eggs were his favorite booty. One day he managed to capture a pig and to drag it along behind him. But when they got near the trenches the cussed animal began to squeal so horribly that the Austrians opened up a terrific fire on him. For fear of the "mosquitoes" Pinocchio had to let him go, and the pig ran to take refuge among his brothers, the enemy.

That evening it rained cats and dogs. The trench was one slimy pool.

The rain dripped everywhere, penetrating, baring the parapets which collapsed, squirting mud and gluing the feet of the soldiers, who, wet to the bone, had to scurry through the wire to carry ammunition to safety and to repair the damage done to the trench. Pinocchio, barelegged, ran back and forth, bemired up to his hair, to give a helping hand to his friends.

"What fun! We seem to be turning into crabs."

"You are a beastly little puppy!"

"Poor Mollica! You really make me sorry for you."

"I make you sorry for me?"

"Certainly. I shouldn't want to be you in all this downpour."

"Why?"

"Because this rain will melt your sugary nature."

Mollica, to convince him of the contrary, started to administer one of his usual boxes on the ear, but he slipped and fell, face down, into the mud.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Are you comfortable, Private Mollica? Tell me were you ever in a softer bed than now?... You look to me like a roll dipped in chocolate.... Bersaglierino, come and see how ugly he is! All chalky up into his hair.... I never saw any one look such an idiot!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"I wish they would murder you, you beastly little puppy!"

After struggling about in the mud he managed to get to his feet again and had almost caught him, but in one spring Pinocchio was far away.

The telephone dugout was a little deeper than the trench and the water was rapidly filling it up. It was already up to the operator's knees. A crowd of soldiers were working hard to stop the flood.

"What are you doing, stupids? Do you think you can bail out this puddle with a cap? You are green. We ought to have big Bertha...."

He didn't get in another word. They took hold of him by his arms and legs and soused him into the dirty water and held him under till he had drunk a cupful. The telephone operator would have liked to see him dead, then and there.

"Hold him under till he is as swollen as a toad. He was calling down misfortune on us, wishing that a sh.e.l.l would fall on us. As if this rain weren't enough (che-chew, che-chew!); we are chilled to the marrow (che-chew!) and are likely to die bravely of cold ...

(che-chew!)."

"Enough! Let me go! Help! Bersaglierino! Mollica-a-a!"

"What are you doing to him? Let him go. Shame on you!" yelled Bersaglierino, running up.

"But don't you know that he was wishing a sh.e.l.l would hit us, the little wretch?"

"Just as if we hadn't enough troubles now."

"Of course you have enough, and one of your troubles is that you are regular beasts," cried Pinocchio as soon as he could get his breath.

"I said I wished for Bertha, the cook in Papa Geppetto's house, to sweep away the water in here, but now I wish I had a broom in my hand to break its handle against your ribs."

"But don't you know that a 'Big Bertha' is a Boche gun that would have blown us into a thousand pieces?"

"So, little devil, do you understand? And now that you have learned your lesson, be off with you."

There was nothing else for poor Pinocchio to do but to spit out the mud still in his mouth and turn on his heel.