minstrel died, and left Hepnon alone.

And now they said that Hepnon tried to coax out of the old melodeon the
music of the Golden Pipes. But a look of sorrow grew upon his face, and
stayed for many months. Then there came a change, and he went into the
woods, and began working there in the perfect summer weather; and the
tale went abroad that he was building an organ, so that he might play for
all who came, the music he heard on the Golden Pipes--for they had
ravished his ear since childhood, and now he must know the wonderful
melodies all by heart, they said.

With consummate patience Hepnon dried the wood and fashioned it into long
tuneful tubes, beating out soft metal got from the forge in the valley to
case the lips of them, tanning the leather for the bellows, stretching
it, and exposing all his work to the sun of early morning, which gave
every fibre and valve a rich sweetness, like a sound fruit of autumn.
People also said that he set all the pieces out at sunrise and sunset
that the tone of the Golden Pipes might pass into them, so that when the
organ was built, each part should be saturated with such melody as it had
drawn in, according to its temper and its fibre.

So the building of the organ went on, and a year passed, and then
another, and it was summer again; and soon Hepnon began to build
also--while yet it was sweet weather--a home for his organ, a tall nest
of cedar added to his father's house. And in it every piece of wood, and
every board had been made ready by his own hands, and set in the sun and
dried slowly to a healthy soundness; and he used no nails of metal, but
wooden pins of the iron-wood or hickory tree, and it was all polished,
and there was no paint or varnish anywhere; and when you spoke in this
nest your voice sounded pure and strong.