great face. Festus Clasby took this as a business proposition, and the
soul of the trader revolved within him. Why not buy the tin can from
this tinker and sell it at a profit across his counter, even as he
would sell the flitches of bacon that were wrapped in sacking upon his
cart? He was in mellow mood, and laid down the reins in the cart beside
him.

"And so she is the last?" he said, eyeing the tin can.

"She is the Can with the Diamond Notch."

"Odds and ends go cheap," said Festus Clasby.

"She is the last, but the flower of the flock."

"Remnants must go as bargains or else remain as remnants."

"My wallet!" protested Mac-an-Ward, "you wound me. Don't speak as if I
picked it off a scrap heap."

"I will not, but I will say that, being a tail end and an odd one, it
must go at a sacrifice."

The Son of the Bard tapped the side of the can gently with his
knuckles.

"Listen to him, the hard man from the country! He has no regard for my
feelings. I had the soldering iron in my hand in face of it before the
larks stirred this morning. I had my back to the East, but through the
bottom of that can there I saw the sun rise in its glory. The brightness