And you--you big spotted yellow one--you're laughing at me.

Oh, I'm going to play you--all of you.

You'll make such a pretty song, you're so different from each other!" And David leaped lightly to his feet and ran around to the side porch for his violin.
Five minutes later, Simeon Holly, coming into the kitchen, heard the sound of a violin through the open window.

At the same moment his eyes fell on the woodbox, empty save for a few small sticks at the bottom.
With an angry frown he strode through the outer door and around the corner of the house to the garden.

At once then he came upon David, sitting Turk-fashion in the middle of the path before the pansy-bed, his violin at his chin, and his whole face aglow.
"Well, boy, is this the way you fill the woodbox ?" demanded the man crisply.
David shook his head.
"Oh, no, sir, this isn't filling the woodbox," he laughed, softening his music, but not stopping it.