As he sobbed he said to himself:

"Oh, my Fairy, my dear, dear Fairy, why did you die? Why did I not die,
who am so bad, instead of you, who are so good? And my father--where can
he be? Please dear Fairy, tell me where he is and I shall never, never
leave him again! You are not really dead, are you? If you love me, you
will come back, alive as before. Don't you feel sorry for me? I'm so
lonely. If the two Assassins come, they'll hang me again from the giant
oak tree and I will really die, this time. What shall I do alone in the
world? Now that you are dead and my father is lost, where shall I eat?
Where shall I sleep? Who will make my new clothes? Oh, I want to die!
Yes, I want to die! Oh, oh, oh!"

Poor Pinocchio! He even tried to tear his hair, but as it was only
painted on his wooden head, he could not even pull it.

Just then a large Pigeon flew far above him. Seeing the Marionette, he
cried to him:

"Tell me, little boy, what are you doing there?"

"Can't you see? I'm crying," cried Pinocchio, lifting his head toward
the voice and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

"Tell me," asked the Pigeon, "do you by chance know of a Marionette,
Pinocchio by name?"

"Pinocchio! Did you say Pinocchio?" replied the Marionette, jumping to
his feet. "Why, I am Pinocchio!"