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.