falling dew. And now you ask me if it is worth a shilling."

"For all your talk, it is only made of tin, and not such good tin."

"Not good tin! I held it in my hand in the piece before ever the
clippers was laid upon it. I bent it and it curved, supple as a young
snake. I shook it, and the ripples ran down the length of it like silver
waves in a little lake. The strength of the ages was in its voice. It
has gathered its power in the womb of the earth. It was smelted from the
precious metal taken from the mines of the Peninsula of Malacca, and it
will have its gleam when the sparkle of the diamond is spent."

"I'll give you a shilling for it, and hold your tongue."

"No! I will not have it on my conscience. God is my judge, I will break
it up first. I will cut it into pieces. From one of them will yet be
made a breastplate, and in time to come it will be nailed to your own
coffin, with your name and your age and the date of your death painted
upon it. And when the paint is faded upon it it will shine over the
dust of the bone of your breast. It will be dug up and preserved when
all graveyards are abolished. They will say, 'We will keep this
breastplate, for who knows but that it bore the name of the man who
refused to buy the Can with the Diamond Notch.'"

"How much will you take for it?"

"Now you are respectful. Let me put a price upon it, for it was I who
fashioned it into this shape. It will hold three gallons and a half from
now until the time that swallows wear shoes. But for all that I will
part with it, because I am poor and hungry and have a delicate wife. It