MASTER CHERRY GIVES THE WOOD AWAY


At that moment some one knocked at the door.


"Come in," said the carpenter,
without having the strength to rise to his feet.


A lively little old man immediately walked into
the shop. His name was Geppetto, but when the boys of the neighborhood wished
to make him angry they called him Pudding, because his yellow wig greatly
resembled a pudding made of Indian corn.


Geppetto was very fiery. Woe to him who called
him Pudding! He became furious and there was no holding him.


"Good-day, Master Antonio," said
Geppetto; "what are you doing there on the floor?"


"I am teaching the alphabet to the ants."


"Much good may that do you."


"What has brought you to me, neighbor Geppetto?"


"My legs. But to tell the truth. Master Antonio,
I came to ask a favor of you."


"Here I am, ready to serve you," replied
the carpenter, getting on his knees.


"This morning an idea came into my head."


"Let us hear it."


"I thought I would make a beautiful wooden
puppet; one that could dance, fence, and leap like an acrobat. With this puppet
I would travel about the world to earn a piece of bread and a glass of wine. What
do you think of it?"

"Bravo, Pudding!" exclaimed the same little voice, and it was impossible
to say where it came from.

Hearing himself called Pudding, Geppetto became as red as a turkey-cock from rage
and, turning to the carpenter, he said in a fury:


"Why do you insult me?"


"Who insults you?"


"You called me Pudding!"


"It was not I!"


"Do you think I called myself Pudding? It was
you, I say!"


"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

And, becoming more and more angry, from words they came to blows, and, flying at
each other, they bit and fought, and scratched.


When the fight was over Master Antonio was in possession
of Geppetto's yellow wig, and Geppetto discovered that the grey wig belonging to
the carpenter remained between his teeth.


"Give me back my wig," screamed Master
Antonio.


"And you, return me mine, and let us be friends
again."


The two old men having each recovered his own wig,
shook hands and swore that they would remain friends to the end of their lives.


"Well, then, neighbor Geppetto," said
the carpenter, to prove that peace was made, "what is the favor that you wish
of me?"


"I want a little wood to make my puppet; will
you give me some?"


Master Antonio was delighted, and he immediately
went to the bench and fetched the piece of wood that had caused him so much fear.
But just as he was going to give it to his friend the piece of wood gave a shake
and, wriggling violently out of his hands, struck with all of its force against
the dried-up shins of poor Geppetto.


"Ah! is that the courteous way in which you
make your presents, Master Antonio? You have almost lamed me!"


"I swear to you that it was not I!"


"Then you would have it that it was I?"


"The wood is entirely to blame!"


"I know that it was the wood; but it was you
that hit my legs with it!"


"I did not hit you with it!"


"Liar!"

"Geppetto, don't insult me or I will call you Pudding!"


"Knave!"

"Pudding!"

"Donkey!"

"Pudding!"

"Baboon!"

"Pudding!"

On hearing himself called Pudding for the third time Geppetto, mad with rage, fell
upon the carpenter and they fought desperately.

When the battle was over, Master Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and
his adversary had lost two buttons off his waistcoat. Their accounts being thus
squared, they shook hands and swore to remain good friends for the rest of their
lives.


Geppetto carried off his fine piece of wood and,
thanking Master Antonio, returned limping to his house.

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THE PIECE OF WOOD THAT LAUGHED AND CRIED LIKE A
CHILD


There was once upon a time a piece of wood in
the shop of an old carpenter named Master Antonio. Everybody, however, called
him Master Cherry, on account of the end of his nose, which was always as red and
polished as a ripe cherry.


No sooner had Master Cherry set eyes on the
piece of wood than his face beamed with delight, and, rubbing his hands
together with satisfaction, he said softly to himself:


"This wood has come at the right moment;
it will just do to make the leg of a little table."

He immediately took a sharp axe with which to remove the bark and the rough
surface, but just as he was going to give the first stroke he heard a very
small voice say imploringly, "Do not strike me so hard!"


He turned his terrified eyes all around the
room to try and discover where the little voice could possibly have come from,
but he saw nobody! He looked under the bench — nobody; he looked into a
cupboard that was always shut — nobody; he looked into a basket of shavings and
sawdust — nobody; he even opened the door of the shop and gave a glance into
the street — and still nobody. Who, then, could it be?


"I see how it is," he said, laughing
and scratching his wig, "evidently that little voice was all my
imagination. Let us set to work again."


And, taking up the axe, he struck a tremendous
blow on the piece of wood.


"Oh! oh! you have hurt me!" cried the
same little voice dolefully.


This time Master Cherry was petrified. His eyes
started out of his head with fright, his mouth remained open, and his tongue
hung out almost to the end of his chin, like a mask on a fountain. As soon as
he had recovered the use of his speech he began to say, stuttering and
trembling with fear:


"But where on earth can that little voice
have come from that said 'Oh! oh!? Is it possible that this piece of wood can
have learned to cry and to lament like a child? I cannot believe it. This piece
of wood is nothing but a log for fuel like all the others, and thrown on the
fire it would about suffice to boil a saucepan of beans. How then? Can anyone
be hidden inside it? If anyone is hidden inside, so much the worse for him. I
will settle him at once."


So saying, he seized the poor piece of wood and
commenced beating it without mercy against the walls of the room.

Then he stopped to listen if he could hear any little voice lamenting. He
waited two minutes — nothing; five minutes — nothing; ten minutes — still
nothing!


"I see how it is," he then said,
forcing himself to laugh, and pushing up his wig; "evidently the little
voice that said 'Oh! oh! was all my imagination! Let us set to work again."


Putting the axe aside, he took his plane, to
plane and polish the bit of wood; but whilst he was running it up and down he
heard the same little voice say, laughing:


"Stop! you are tickling me all over!"


This time poor Master Cherry fell down as if he
had been struck by lightning. When he at last opened his eyes he found himself
seated on the floor.







His face was changed, even the end of his nose,
instead of being crimson, as it was nearly always, had become blue from fright.


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16-дневный интенсивный тренинг-курс английского языка
«PROGRESS» по вечерам – это освоение разговорного английского для жизни и
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Тренинг организован специально для тех, кто хочет повысить
свой уровень практического владения английским языком в максимально короткий
срок без отрыва от основной деятельности


Занятия ведутся по будним дням, исключая среду, с 19.00 до
22.00 в течение 4-х недель.


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Результаты интенсивного тренинг-курса английского языка:


- знание и умение пользоваться в речи всем запасом лексики и
грамматики, вывод знаний из «пассива» в «актив»


- устойчивый навык практического общения на английском
языке, закрепление привычки «думать на английском»


- увеличение словарного запаса до 400 слов как общей, так и
бизнес тематики


- структурирование знаний по грамматике «по полочкам»,
заполнение пробелов


- преодоление языкового барьера


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