Pinnocchio

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  Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.
  
  I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old carpenter. His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry, for the tip of his nose was so round and res shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry.
  
  As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry was filled with joy. Rubbing his hands together happily, he mumbled half to himself:
  
  This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make the leg of a table.
  
  He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood. But as he was about to give it the first blow, he stood with arm uplifted, for he had heard a wee, little voice say in a beseeching tone:
  
  Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!