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. 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—to work once more! "The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a gay song in order to gain courage.

　　He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane to make the wood smooth and even, but as he drew it to and fro, he heard the same tiny voice. This time it giggled as it spoke:

　　"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach. "This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.

　　His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose from red to deepest purple.

　　等到他重新能够说话，他吓得哆哆嗦嗦、结结巴巴地说了起来：
　　“这个细声细气叫‘唉哟’的声音，它到底是打哪儿来的呢？……屋子里可是一个人也没有。难道是这段木头，是它学会了像小娃娃那样又哭又叫吗？这我可怎么也不相信。瞧，就是这么一段木头。它跟别的木头一模一样，拿来生炉子的。扔到火里，倒可以烧开一锅豆子……那么，不是木头又是什么呢，难道是木头里躲着个人吗，要真躲着人，那他就活该倒霉，我这就来跟他算账！”
　　他这么说着，双手抓住这段可怜的木头，一点不客气，就把它往墙上撞。
　　撞了一会儿，他停下来竖起耳朵细细地听，看有什么哭声没有，他听了两分钟，没有，听了五分钟，没有，听了十分钟，也没有！
　　“我明白了，”他一面苦笑着说，一面抓头上的假发，“那细声细气地叫‘唉哟’的声音，一准是我自己听错了！我还是干我的活吧，”
　　可他心里仍然挺害怕，于是试着伊伊唔唔地哼支小调壮壮胆。
　　这一回他放下斧子，拿起刨子，要把木头刨刨平，可他一来一去地刚那么一刨，又听见那个很小很小的声音嘻嘻地笑着对他说了：
　　“快住手！你弄得我浑身怪痒痒的！”
　　可怜的樱桃师傅这一回活像着了雷打，扑通一声倒了下来。等他重新张开眼睛，只见自己坐在地上。
　　他脸都变了色，一向红得发紫的鼻尖，这会儿都吓得发青了。