How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter,found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a childCenturies ago there lived--"A king!" my little readers will say immediately.
No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a timethere was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive pieceof wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood,one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire inwinter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.
I do not know how this really happened, yet the factremains that one fine day this piece of wood found itselfin the shop of an old carpenter. His real name wasMastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry,for the tip of his nose was so round and red and shinythat it looked like a ripe cherry.
As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherrywas filled with joy. Rubbing his hands together happily,he mumbled half to himself:
"This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it tomake the leg of a table."He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark andshape the wood. But as he was about to give it the firstblow, he stood still with arm uplifted, for he had heard awee, little voice say in a beseeching tone: "Please be careful!
Do not hit me so hard!"What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry'sface! His funny face became still funnier.
He turned frightened eyes about the room to find outwhere that wee, little voice had come from and he sawno one! He looked under the bench--no one! He peepedinside the closet--no one! He searched among the shavings--no one! He opened the door to look up and downthe street--and still no one!
"Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig.
"It can easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tinyvoice say the words! Well, well--to work once more."He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.
"Oh, oh! You hurt!" cried the same far-away little voice.
Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of hishead, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung downon his chin.
As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said,trembling and stuttering from fright:
"Where did that voice come from, when there is noone around? Might it be that this piece of wood haslearned to weep and cry like a child? I can hardlybelieve it. Here it is--a piece of common firewood, goodonly to burn in the stove, the same as any other. Yet--might someone be hidden in it? If so, the worse for him.
I'll fix him!"With these words, he grabbed the log with both handsand started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw itto the floor, against the walls of the room, and even upto the ceiling.
He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry.
He waited two minutes--nothing; five minutes--nothing;ten minutes--nothing.
"Oh, I see," he said, trying bravely to laugh andruffling up his wig with his hand. "It can easily be seenI only imagined I heard the tiny voice! Well, well--towork once more!"The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he triedto sing a gay song in order to gain courage.
He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane tomake the wood smooth and even, but as he drew it toand fro, he heard the same tiny voice. This time it giggledas it spoke:
"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach."This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. Whenhe opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.
His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip ofhis nose from red to deepest purple.
