As soon as Master Cherry saw that piece of wood he was overjoyed; and rubbing his hands contentedly, he mumbled to himself, “This piece of wood has come in good time. I will make from it a table leg.”
No sooner said than done. He quickly took a sharpened ax to raise the bark and shape the wood; but when he was on the point of striking it he remained with his arm in the air, because he heard a tiny, thin little voice say, “Do not strike so hard!”
Just imagine how surprised good old Master Cherry was! He turned his bewildered eyes around the room in order to see whence that little voice came; but he saw no one. He looked under the bench, and no one; he looked in a sideboard which was always closed, and no one; he looked in the basket of chips and shavings, and no one; he opened the door in order to glance around his house, and no one. What then?
“I understand,” he said, laughing and scratching his wig; “I imagined I heard that little voice. I will start to work again.”
He took up the ax and again gave the piece of wood a hard blow.
“Oh! you have hurt me!” cried the little voice, as if in pain.
