The man carried him on and took him into a little shop. It was a queer
shop, too, for there were many bright, shining things lying on the
work-bench. They were tools, you know. The man had a kind face and he
handled Pine Tree very carefully. He sawed and smoothed Pine Tree many
days, and as he worked he whistled and sang, for he was happy. Sometimes
he would whistle some of the songs that Pine Tree had heard when he
lived in the forest, and then sometimes those he had heard on the ocean,
and again he would whistle the songs that Pine Tree had heard in the
home of the children.

At last the man's work was finished. Pine Tree had been made into a
wonderful musical instrument--a violin. The man took a bow and drew it
across the strings, and as he did so he smiled and nodded his head, for
the music was very sweet. The violin, which had once been Pine Tree, and
then part of a ship, and the ridge-pole of the cottage and the barn,
seemed to sing to the man the songs of the forest, the songs of the
ocean, the songs of the home, and the songs of the lowly barn.

One day the man put the violin in a case and took it away on a long
journey. When the case was opened, the violin saw that they were in a
strange hall full of people, and many of them were talking of this
man--the violin-maker.

The man lifted the violin from the case and went out upon a large
platform before the people, and began playing for them. He seemed to say
to the violin, "Sing for me," and as he drew the bow across the strings
the violin sang. It sang to the people, first the very songs that the
tall pines sang in the forest. The song changed, and the lap of the
waters, and the dip of the oar could be heard as on a moonlight summer
night; then the angry wind and the dash of the waves could be heard as