第1章 會哭會笑的木頭
從前從前有─
「有位國王！」我的小讀者們脫口而出。
不，孩子，你們錯了。從前有塊木頭，那不是什麼昂貴的木頭，是塊木柴，就是人們冬天在壁爐裡用來生火取暖的那種普通木頭。
有天這塊木頭出現在老木匠師傅安東尼的工作室裡，人稱他為櫻桃大師，因為他那又紅又亮的鼻子像顆熟透的櫻桃。
當他看見木頭時，高興得摩拳擦掌，喃喃自語著，「這塊木頭出現得正是時候，我要把它拿來做成小茶几的桌腳。」
說完他便拿起斧頭，準備削去木頭的外皮和粗糙的表面。但當他正要揮下斧頭時，他的手突然停滯在半空中動彈不得。因為耳裡傳來微弱的聲音哀求著：「拜託下手輕一點喔。」
老櫻桃師傅驚慌地環顧房間，想要找出聲音到底從何而來，但一個人影也沒有。他看看板凳下方─沒有人啊；看看一向緊閉的櫥櫃─沒有人；他檢查裝滿木片與木屑的籃子─沒有人；他甚至打開工作室大門往街頭望去，還是沒有人！這到底是怎麼回事？
「噢，我知道了，」他撓抓著假髮大笑起來，「那聲音顯然是我想像出來的！還是趕緊工作吧！」
他再次拿起斧頭，朝木頭用力一擊。
「噢！打得我好痛！」和剛剛一樣的聲音悲慘地喊叫著。
這回櫻桃師傅被嚇得魂不附體，他嚇得雙眼突出，嘴巴張得大大的，吐出的舌頭也垂到了下巴，模樣像極了吊死鬼。他愣住了一會兒，好不容易回過神來，因為驚嚇而結結巴巴地說：
「聲音從哪兒來的？這裡沒有人，難不成是這塊木頭會像小孩一樣哭泣和喊疼？我才不信，這不過是塊普通木柴，就像其他木頭一樣，最好的下場就是被扔進火爐裡，用來燉煮點美味的東西⋯⋯莫非有人躲在木頭裡？真要是這樣，他可倒楣了，我會要他好看。」
說著便雙手狠狠抓起木頭敲打，這塊可憐的木頭被狠摔向地板、牆壁、甚至是天花板。
然後他停頓下來，聽聽有沒有出現喊疼的聲音。等了兩分鐘，沒有聲音，過了五分鐘，靜悄悄地，十分鐘後，還是沒有半點聲音。
「我知道了！」他試著勇敢地大笑出聲，再撓撓自己的假髮，「八成是我的幻想，還是繼續工作吧！」
但是可憐的老師傅被嚇走了半條命，只好唱些歡樂的歌曲壯膽。
他放下斧頭，拿起刨刀削平那塊木頭。但當他來回削刮木頭時，他聽見咯咯笑的聲音，「快住手啊，哈哈哈，你弄得我全身好癢！」
這回櫻桃師傅像是被閃電擊中一樣，整個人往後栽倒。當他再度睜開雙眼時，他發現自己坐在地上，容貌全走了樣，連向來通紅的鼻頭也被嚇得發青。
1. A Wood That Laughs and Cries
There was once upon a time...
"A king!" my little readers will instantly exclaim.
No, children, you are mistaken. There was once upon a time a piece of wood. This wood was not valuable; it was only a common log like those that are burned in winter in the stoves and fireplaces to make a cheerful blaze and warm the rooms.
One fine day, this piece of wood was lying in the shop of an old
carpenter of the name of Master Antonio. He was, however, called by everybody Master Cherry, on account of the end of his nose, which was always as red and polished as a ripe cherry.
No sooner had Master Cherry set eyes on the piece of wood than his face beamed with delight; and, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction, he said softly to himself:
"This wood has come at the right moment; it will just do to make the leg of a little table."
Having said this, he immediately took a sharp ax with which to remove the bark and the rough surface. Just, however, as he was going to give the first stroke he remained with his arm suspended in the air, for he heard a very small voice saying imploringly, "Do not strike me so hard!"
He turned his terrified eyes about the room to try to discover where the little voice could possibly have come from, but he saw nobody! He looked under the bench—nobody; he looked into a cupboard that was always shut—nobody; he looked into a basket of shavings and sawdust—nobody; he even opened the door of the shop and gave a glance into the street—and still nobody. Who, then, could it be?
"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 ax 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 popped out of his head, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on 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:
"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 to boil a saucepan of beans. Yet might someone be hidden in it? If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"
With these words, he grabbed the log with both hands and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the ceiling.
He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two minutes—nothing; five minutes—nothing; ten minutes—nothing.
"Oh, I see," he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig with his hand. "It can easily be seen I only imagined I heard the tiny voice! Well, well, let us set to work again."
But the poor fellow was scared half to death, he tried to sing a gay song to give himself a little courage.
Putting the ax aside, he took his plane, to make the wood smooth and even; but whilst he drew it to and fro, he heard the same little voice giggling as it spoke:
"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You're 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 sitting on the floor. His face was quite changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose from red to deepest purple.
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