He had already been sleeping soundly for more than two hours when, towards midnight, he was woken by a whispering and a pss-pss of strange little voices that he seemed to hear in the farmyard. Poking the tip of his nose out of the hole in the kennel, he saw four little dark-furred animals that looked like cats, gathered together in council. But they were not cats: they were weasels, little meat-eating creatures, terribly greedy for eggs and young pullets. One of these weasels left her companions, went to the hole in the kennel and said in a low voice:
“Good evening, Melampo.”
“My name isn't Melampo,” answered the puppet.
“Well then, who are you?”
“I'm Pinocchio.”
“And what are you doing there?”
“I'm being the watchdog.”
“Then where's Melampo? Where's the old dog who lived in this kennel?”
“He died this morning.”
“Dead? Poor beast!… He was so good!… But judging by your face, you seem a decent sort of dog too.”
“Excuse me, I am not a dog!…”
“Then what are you?”
“I'm a puppet.”
“And you're acting as watchdog?”
“Worse luck, yes: as my punishment!…”
“Well, I'll offer you the same terms I had with the late Melampo, and you'll be satisfied.”
“And what might these terms be?”
“We shall come once a week, as we did before, to visit this henhouse by night, and we shall carry off eight hens. Of these hens we shall eat seven ourselves and give one to you, on condition, of course, that you pretend to be asleep and never take it into your head to bark and wake the farmer.”
“And did Melampo really do that?” asked Pinocchio.
“He did, and between us and him we always got on well. So sleep soundly, and you can be sure that before we leave here we'll put a hen on the kennel for you, all nicely plucked, for your breakfast tomorrow. Do we understand each other?”
“Only too well!…” answered Pinocchio; and he shook his head in a rather threatening way, as if to say: “We'll talk about this again before long!…”
When the four weasels thought they were safe, they went straight to the henhouse, which stood very close to the dog's kennel; and after prising open with teeth and claws the little wooden door that closed its entrance, they slipped inside, one after another. But they had hardly finished getting in when they heard the little door slam shut behind them with tremendous force.
The one who had shut it was Pinocchio; and not content with shutting it, he put a big stone in front of it, to be on the safe side, by way of a prop.
And then he began to bark: and barking just as if he were a watchdog, he went: bow-wow-wow-wow.
At that barking the farmer leapt out of bed, took his gun, looked out of the window and asked:
“What's going on?”
“The thieves are here!” answered Pinocchio.
“Where are they?”
“In the henhouse.”
“I'll be down at once.”
And sure enough, in less time than it takes to say amen, the farmer came down; he ran into the henhouse and, after catching the four weasels and shutting them up in a sack, he said to them in a voice of real delight:
“At last you've fallen into my hands! I could punish you, but so base I am not! Instead I shall be content to take you tomorrow to the innkeeper in the next village, who will skin you and cook you like hare in sweet-and-sour sauce. It's an honour you don't deserve, but generous men like me don't trouble about such trifles!…”
Then he went up to Pinocchio and began to pet him a great deal, and among other things he asked him:
“How did you manage to uncover the plot of these four little thieves? And to think that Melampo, my faithful Melampo, never noticed a thing!…”
The puppet could have told then what he knew; he could, that is, have told about the shameful bargain between the dog and the weasels; but remembering that the dog was dead, he thought at once to himself: “What's the use of accusing the dead?… The dead are dead, and the best thing you can do is to leave them in peace!…”
“When the weasels came into the farmyard, were you awake or asleep?” the farmer went on asking him.
“I was asleep,” answered Pinocchio, “but the weasels woke me up with their chattering, and one of them came right up here to the kennel to say to me: ‘If you promise not to bark and not to wake the master, we'll make you a present of a pullet all nicely plucked!’ Do you see? To have the cheek to make an offer like that to me! Because you must know that I'm a puppet who may have every fault in the world, but I'll never have the fault of being in league with dishonest people and helping them in their dirty work!”
“Good boy!” cried the farmer, clapping him on the shoulder. “Those feelings do you credit: and to show you how very pleased I am, I'm letting you go home this very minute.”
And he took the dog-collar off him.