of it is as the harvest moon."

"I don't want it for its brightness."

"Dear heart, listen to the man who would not have brightness. He would
pluck the light from the moon, quench the heat in the heart of the sun.
He would draw a screen across the aurora borealis and paint out the
rainbow with lamp black. He might do such things, but he cannot deny the
brightness of this can. Look upon it! When the world is coming to an end
it will shine up at the sky and it will say: 'Ah, where are all the
great stars now that made a boast of their brightness?' And there will
be no star left to answer. They will all be dead things in the heaven,
buried in the forgotten graves of the skies."

"Don't mind the skies. Let me see if there may not be a leakage in it."
Festus Clasby held up the can between his handsome face and the bright
sky.

"Leakages!" exclaimed Mac-an-Ward. "A leakage in a can that I soldered
as if with my own heart's blood. Holy Kilcock, what a mind has this man
from the country! He sees no value in its brightness; now he will tell
me that there is no virtue in its music."

"I like music," said Festus Clasby. "No fiddler has ever stood at my
door but had the good word to say of me. Not one of them could ever say
that he went thirsty from my counter."

Said the Son of the Bard: "Fiddlers, what are fiddlers? What sound have
they like the music of the sweet milk going into that can from the
yellow teats of the red cow? Morning and evening there will be a hymn