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..