How it Happened 发生了什么
Centuries ago there lived–
从前……
“A king!” my little readers will say immediately.
“有一个国王！”我的小读者马上要说。
No, children, you are mistaken. 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.
不是的，小朋友，你们错了，从前有一段木头。这段木头并不是什么贵重木头，就是柴堆里那种普通木头，扔进炉子和壁炉生火和取暖用的。
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 red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry.
我也不知道是怎么回事，总之有一天，这段木头碰巧到了一位老木匠的铺子里，这位老木匠名叫安东尼奥，大伙儿却管他叫樱桃师傅，叫他樱桃师傅，因为他的鼻尖红得发紫，再加上亮光光的，活像一个熟透了的樱桃。
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:
樱桃师傅看见这段木头，高兴极了，他满意得一个劲儿搓着手，低声嘟嚷说：
“This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make the leg of a table.”
“这段木头来得正好，我要拿它做条桌子腿。”
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 still 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!”
说干就干，他马上拿起一把锋利的斧子，动手就要削掉树皮，先大致砍出条桌子腿的样子。可他第一斧正要砍下去，手举在头顶上却一下子停住不动了，因为他听见一个很细很细的声音央求他说：“可别把我砍得太重了！”
What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry’s face! His funny face became still funnier.
诸位想象一下吧，樱桃师傅这位善良的老头儿该是多么惊讶啊！
He turned frightened eyes about the room to find out where that wee, little voice had come from and he saw no one! He looked under the bench–no one! He peeped inside the closet–no one! He searched among the shavings–no one! He opened the door to look up and down the street–and still no one!
他一双眼睛吓傻了，满屋子骨碌碌转了一圈，要看看这个声音是打哪儿来的，可他一个人也没有看见！他往工作台底下看看，没有人，他打开一直关着的柜子看看，没有人；他往一篓刨花和碎木片里面看看，也没有人；他甚至打开铺子门往街上看看，还是没有人！那么……？
“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.”
“我明白了，”他于是抓抓头上的假发，笑着说，“这声音一准是我听错了。我还是干我的活吧，”
He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.
他重新拿起斧子，在那段木头上狠狠地一斧砍下去。
“Oh, oh! You hurt!” cried the same far-away little voice.
“唉哟！你把我砍痛了！”还是那很细的声音埋怨着叫起来。
Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.
这一回樱桃师傅当真愣住了，眼睛吓得鼓了出来，嘴巴张得老大，舌头拖到下巴，活像喷水池里一个妖怪的石头像。
As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and stuttering from fright:
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：
“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!”
“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！”
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.
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。
He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two minutes–nothing; five minutes–nothing; ten minutes–nothing.
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！
“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!”
“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，”
The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a gay song in order to gain courage.
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。
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:
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：
“Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach.”
“快住手！你弄得我浑身怪痒痒的！”
This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.
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。
His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose from red to deepest purple.
他脸都变了色，一向红得发紫的鼻尖，这会儿都吓得发青了。
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