“Oh! oh! you have hurt me!” cried the same little voice dolefully.

This time Master Cherry was petrified.  His eyes started out of his head with fright, his mouth remained open, and his tongue hung out almost to the end of his chin, like a mask on a fountain.  As soon as he had recovered the use of his speech he began to say, stuttering and trembling with fear: 

“But where on earth can that little voice have come from that said ’Oh! oh!’?  Is it possible that this piece of wood can have learned to cry and to lament like a child?  I cannot believe it.  This piece of wood is nothing but a log for fuel like all the others, and thrown on the fire it would about suffice to boil a saucepan of beans.  How then?  Can anyone be hidden inside it?  If anyone is hidden inside, so much the worse for him.  I will settle him at once.”

So saying, he seized the poor piece of wood and commenced beating it without mercy against the walls of the room.

Then he stopped to listen if he could hear any little voice lamenting.  He waited two minutes—­nothing; five minutes—­nothing; ten minutes—­still nothing!

“I see how it is,” he then said, forcing himself to laugh, and pushing up his wig; “evidently the little voice that said ‘Oh! oh!’ was all my imagination!  Let us set to work again.”

Putting the axe aside, he took his plane, to plane and polish the bit of wood; but whilst he was running it up and down he heard the same little voice say, laughing: 

“Stop! you are tickling me all over!”

This time poor Master Cherry fell down as if he had been struck by lightning.  When he at last opened his eyes he found himself seated on the floor.

His face was changed, even the end of his nose, instead of being crimson, as it was nearly always, had become blue from fright.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER II

MASTER CHERRY GIVES THE WOOD AWAY

At that moment some one knocked at the door.

“Come in,” said the carpenter, without having the strength to rise to his feet.

A lively little old man immediately walked into the shop.  His name was Geppetto, but when the boys of the neighborhood wished to make him angry they called him Pudding, because his yellow wig greatly resembled a pudding made of Indian corn.

Geppetto was very fiery.  Woe to him who called him Pudding!  He became furious and there was no holding him.

“Good-day, Master Antonio,” said Geppetto; “what are you doing there on the floor?”

“I am teaching the alphabet to the ants.”

“Much good may that do you.”

“What has brought you to me, neighbor Geppetto?”

“My legs.  But to tell the truth.  Master Antonio, I came to ask a favor of you.”

“Here I am, ready to serve you,” replied the carpenter, getting on his knees.

“This morning an idea came into my head.”