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[ How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter,

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found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a child ]

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Centuries ago there lived--

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"A king!" my little readers will say immediately.

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No, children, you are mistaken.

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Once upon a time there was a piece of wood.

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It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it.

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Just a common block of firewood,

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one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter

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to make cold rooms cozy and warm.

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I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day

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this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old carpenter.

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His real name was Mastro Antonio,

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but everyone called him Mastro Cherry,

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for the tip of his nose

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was so round and red and shiny that it looked

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like a ripe cherry.

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As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry

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was filled with joy.

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Rubbing his hands together happily,

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he mumbled half to himself:

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"This has come in the nick of time.

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I shall use it to make the leg of a table."

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Said and done

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He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood.

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But as he was about to give it the first blow,

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he stood still with arm uplifted,

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for he had heard a wee, little voice

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say in a beseeching tone:

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"Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!"

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What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry's face! His funny face became still funnier.

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He turned frightened eyes about the room

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to find out where that wee, little voice had come from

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and he saw no one!

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He looked under the bench--no one!

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He peeped inside the closet--no one!

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He searched among the shavings-- no one!

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He opened the door to look up and down the street--and still no one!

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"Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig.

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"It can easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words!

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Well, well--to work once more."

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and taken an ax in his hand

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He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.

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"Oh, oh! You hurt!"

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cried the same far-away little voice.

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Mastro Cherry grew dumb,

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his eyes popped out of his head,

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his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.

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as a mask from fontana

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As soon as he regained the use of his senses,

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he said, trembling and stuttering from fright:

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"Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around?

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when there is no one around?

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Might it be that this piece of wood

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has learned to weep and cry like a child?

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I can hardly believe it.

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Here it is-

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-a piece of common firewood, good only to burn in the stove, the same as any other.

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and thrown on the fire

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is to boil a pot of beans ...

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Or so?

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Yet-- might someone be hidden in it?

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If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"

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Now I adjust it!

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With these words,

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he grabbed the log with both hands

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and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the ceiling.

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He listened

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for the tiny voice to moan and cry.

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He waited two minutes--nothing;

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five minutes--nothing;

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ten minutes--nothing.

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"Oh, I see,"

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he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig with his hand.

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"It can easily be seen I only

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imagined I heard the tiny voice!

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Well, well--to work once more!"

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The poor fellow was scared half to death,

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so he tried to sing a gay song in order to gain courage.

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He set aside the hatchet

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and picked up the plane

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to make the wood smooth and even,

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but as he drew it to and fro,

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he heard the same tiny voice. This time it giggled as it spoke:

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"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach."

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This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot.

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When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.

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His face had changed;

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fright had turned even the tip of his nose

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to purple as it was almost always

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from red to deepest purple.

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[Regia di Riccardo Rivarola]