"My boy, I am a Snail, and snails never hurry."
An hour passed, then two, and the door was not opened. Pinocchio, who was wet through and trembling with the cold knocked again, louder this time. At the second knock a window on the third floor opened, and the Snail looked out.
"Beautiful Snail,” cried Pinocchio from the street, “I have waited two hours, and two hours in this weather seems like two years. Please hurry, won't you?”
"My boy," answered the Snail, calmly, "I am a Snail, and snails never hurry," and the window was shut down again.
Some time afterward it struck midnight, then one, then two, but still the door remained closed. Then Pinocchio, losing patience, seized the knocker in a rage, intending to strike with all his might, but the iron knocker suddenly became an eel, and slipping through his fingers, disappeared into a stream of water that ran down the middle of the road.
"Very well!" cried Pinocchio, more enraged than ever, "if the knocker disappears
