“I have given you many words,” she said, “because you are a man sizeable and good to the eye of a foolish woman.  If I had not a sick brother I might be induced to let slip his right in the Can with the Diamond Notch for the pleasure I have found in the look of your face.  When I saw you on the cart I said, ‘There is the build of a man which is to my fancy.’  When I heard your voice I said, ’That is good music to the ear of a woman.’  When I saw your eye I said, ’There is danger to the heart of a woman.’  When I saw your beard I said, ’There is a great growth from the strength of a man.’  When you spoke to me and gave me your laugh I said, ’Ah, what a place that would be for a woman to be seated, driving the roads of the country on a cart laden with provisions beside one so much to the female liking.’  But my sick brother waits, and now I go to do that which may make away with the goodness of your name.  I must seek those who will throw the shadow of the law over many.”

She moved away, sighing a quick sigh, as one might who was setting out on a disagreeable mission.  Festus Clasby called to her and she came back, her eyes pained as they sought his face.  Festus Clasby paid the money, a bright shilling and two threepenny bits, into her hand, wondering vaguely, but virtuously, as he did so, what hardy little dark mountainy man he would later charge up the can to at the double price.

“Now,” said the wife of Mac-an-Ward, putting the money away, “you have paid me for my brother’s can and you would be within your right in getting back your one-and-six from this bad man.”  She hitched her shawl contemptuously in the direction of Mac-an-Ward.

Festus Clasby looked at the Son of the Bard with his velvety soft eyes.  “Come, sir,” said he, his tone a little nervous.  “My money!”

Mac-an-Ward hitched his trousers at the hips like a sailor, spat through his teeth, end eyed Festus Clasby through a slit in his half-closed eyes.  There was a little patter of the feet on the road on the part of Mac-an-Ward, and Festus Clasby knew enough of the world and its ways to gather that these were scientific movements invented to throw a man in a struggle.  He did not like the look of the Son of the Bard.

“I will go home and leave him to God,” he said.  “Hand me the can and I will be shortening my road.”

At this moment three small boys, ragged, eager, their faces hard and weather-beaten, bounded up to the cart.  They were breathless as they stood about the woman.

“Mother!” they cried in chorus.  “The man in the big shop!  He is looking for a can.”

“What can?” cried the woman.

The three young voices rose like a great cry:  “The Can with the Diamond Notch.”

The woman caught her face in her hands as if some terrible thing had been said.  She stared at the youngsters intently.

“He wants one more to make up an order,” they chanted.  “He says he will pay—­”