[Pseudonym of Carlo Lorenzini]

  Translated from the Italian by Carol Della Chiesa
 
  CHAPTER 1

    How it happened
         that Mastro Cherry,
           carpenter,
         found a piece of wood
             that wept and laughed
                   like a child

    Centuries ago there lived
          --

    "A king!"

    my little readers
        will say immediately.

    No,
           children,
         you are mistaken.

    Once upon a time
        there was
               a piece of wood.

    It was
        not an expensive
            piece of wood.

    Far from it.

    Just a common block
           of firewood,
         one of those thick,
         solid logs
             that are
                  put on the fire
                       in winter
                   to make cold rooms
                        cozy and warm.

    I do not know
         how this really happened,
           yet the fact remains
             that one fine day
                   this piece
                 of wood
                   found itself
                       in the shop
                           of an old carpenter.

    His real name
        was Mastro Antonio,
           but everyone
              called him Mastro Cherry,
         for the tip
               of his nose
            was so round
                   and red and shiny
             that it looked
                   like a ripe cherry.

    As soon as
         he saw
           that piece of wood,
           Mastro Cherry
            was 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
              to make the leg
                   of a table."

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

    But as
         he was about
              to give it
                   the first blow,
           he stood
              still with arm uplifted,
         for he
            had heard a wee,
           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's face!

    His funny face became
         still funnier.

    He turned frightened
           eyes about the room
          to find out
         where that wee,
           little voice
            had come from and
             he saw no one!

    He looked under the bench
          --no one!

    He peeped inside the closet
          --no one!

    He searched among the shavings
          -- no one!

    He opened the door
          to look
               up and
             down the 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 tiny voice
              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 his head,
         his mouth opened wide,
           and his tongue
              hung down on 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
               no one around?

    Might it be
         that this piece of wood
            has learned
                  to weep and cry
                       like a child?

    I can hardly believe it.

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

    Yet
          -- might someone
              be hidden in it?

    If so,
           the worse for him.