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!?'... Here there is certainly not a living soul. Is it
possible that this piece of wood can have learnt to cry and to lament
like a child? I cannot believe it. This piece of wood here it is; a
log for fuel like all 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 to work again."
But all the same he was in a great fright; he tried to sing to give
himself a little courage.
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:
"Have done! you are tickling me all over!"
This time poor Master Cherry fell down as if he had been struck by
lightning.
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