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."