"I see how it is," he said, laughing and scratching his wig, "evidently
that little voice was all my imagination. Let us set to work again."

And, taking up the axe, he struck a tremendous blow on the piece of
wood.

"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