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
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
played upon it in the haggard. Was not the finest song ever made called
_Cailin deas cruidhte na mbo_? Music! Do you think that the water in the
holy well will not improve in its sparkle to have such a can as this
dipped into it? It will be welcome everywhere for its clearness and its
cleanness. Heavenly Father, look at the manner in which I rounded the
edge of that can with the clippers! Cut clean and clever, soldered at
the dawn of day, the dew falling upon the hands that moulded it, the
parings scattered about my feet like jewels. And now you would bargain
over it. I will not