He, in the midst of all this tumult,
took a stick and went to the trough and began to beat, and killed them
all. One fell out (imagine how small they were!) and ran quickly into
the bedroom and hid himself on the handle of the pitcher. After the
carpenter had gone to his shop his wife said: "What a rascal! he has
grumbled so long about my not having children and now he has killed them
all!" Then the son who had escaped said: "Mamma, has papa gone?" She
said: "Yes, my son. How did you manage to escape? Where are you?" "Hush!
I am in the handle of the pitcher; tell me: has papa gone?" "Yes, yes,
yes, come out!" Then the child who had escaped came out and his mamma
exclaimed: "Oh! how pretty you are! How shall I call you?" The child
answered: "Cecino." "Very well, bravo, my Cecino! Do you know, Cecino,
you must go and carry your papa's dinner to him at the shop." "Yes, you
must put the little basket on my head, and I will go and carry it to
papa."

The carpenter's wife, when it was time, put the basket on Cecino's head
and sent him to carry her husband's dinner to him. When Cecino was near
the shop, he began to cry: "O papa! come and meet me; I am bringing you
your dinner."

The carpenter said to himself: "Oh! did I kill them all, or are there
any left?" He went to meet Cecino and said: "O my good boy! how did you
escape my blows?" "I fell down, ran into the room, and hid myself on the
handle of the pitcher." "Bravo, Cecino! Listen. You must go around among
the country people and hear whether they have anything broken to mend."
"Yes."

So the carpenter put Cecino in his pocket, and while he went along the
way did nothing but chatter; so that every one said he was mad, because
they did not know that he had his son in his pocket. When he saw some
countrymen he asked: "Have you anything to mend?" "Yes, there are some
things about the oxen broken, but we cannot let you mend them, for you
are mad." "What do you mean by calling me mad? I am wiser than you. Why
do you say I am mad?" "Because you do nothing but talk to yourself on
the road." "I was talking with my son." "And where do you keep your
son?" "In my pocket." "That is a pretty place to keep your son." "Very
well, I will show him to you;" and he pulls out Cecino, who was so small
that he stood on one of his father's fingers.

"Oh, what a pretty child! you must sell him to us." "What are you
thinking about! I sell you my son who is so valuable to me!" "Well,
then, do