"What a pity! It is an insult that would have given me so much pleasure!" said Pinocchio, scratching his head. He then asked: "And where did my good friends say they would wait for me?" "At the Field of Miracles, tomorrow morning at daybreak." Pinocchio paid a sovereign for his supper and that of his companions, and then left. Outside the inn it was so pitch dark that he had almost to grope his way, for it was impossible to see a hand's breadth in front of him. Some night-birds flying across the road from one hedge to the other brushed Pinocchio's nose with their wings as they passed, which caused him so much terror that, springing back, he shouted: "Who goes there?" and the echo in the surrounding hills repeated in the distance: "Who goes there? Who goes there?" As he was walking along he saw a little insect shining dimly on the trunk of a tree, like a night-light in a lamp of transparent china. "Who are you?" asked Pinocchio. "I am the ghost of the Talking-Cricket," answered the insect in a low voice, so weak and faint that it seemed to come from the other world. "What do you want with me?" said the puppet. "I want to give you some advice. Go back and take the four sovereigns that you have left to your poor father, who is weeping and in despair because you have not returned to him." "By tomorrow my papa will be a gentleman, for these four sovereigns will have become two thousand." "Don't trust to those who promise to make you rich in a day. Usually they are either mad or rogues! Give ear to me, and go back, my boy." "On the contrary, I am determined to go on." "The hour is late!" "I am determined to go on." "The night is dark!" "I am determined to go on." "The road is dangerous!" "I am determined to go on." "Remember that boys who are bent on following their caprices, and will have their own way, sooner or later repent it." "Always the same stories. Good-night, Cricket." "Good-night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from dangers and from assassins." No sooner had he said these words than the Talking-Cricket vanished suddenly like a light that has been blown out, and the road became darker than ever. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIV PINOCCHIO FALLS AMONGST ASSASSINS