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Festus Clasby, the dispute stirring something in his own blood, shook his fist in the long narrow face of Mac-an-Ward. As he did so he got a tip on the heels and a pressure upon the chest sent him staggering a few steps back. One of the old women held him up in her arms and another old woman stood before him, striking her breast.

"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!"

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.

There was no technical trust which men would not have reposed in him, so perfectly was he wrought as a human casket. As it was, Festus Clasby filled the most fatal of all occupations to dignity without losing his tremendous illusion of respectability.

Festus Clasby was the planet around which this constellation of small farmers, herds, and hardy little dark mountainy men revolved; from his shop they drew the light and heat and food which kept them going. Their very emotions were registered at his counter.

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.

He has never given his time to the art, and so does not know how to rivet them." "She vilifies me," said Mac-an-Ward, sotto voce. "Then I am glad he has not sold me one of his own," said Festus Clasby. "I have a fancy for the lasting article." "You may be able to buy it yet," said the woman.

I am done with you now." "It's robbery!" cried the woman, her eyes full of a blazing sudden anger. "What is robbery?" asked Festus Clasby. "Doing me out of a shilling. Wronging my sick brother out of his earnings. A man worth hundreds, maybe thousands, to stand between a poor woman and a shilling. I am deceived in you." "Out with the can," said Festus Clasby.

In 1812, Captain Charles Clasby of Nantucket visited this foundry, bought the bell, which had not yet been dedicated, sending it to the island in the whaleship William and Nancy, Captain Thomas Cary, and in 1815 it was hung in the tower. Soon after the stroke of four the sparrows begin to chatter, but before long one hears through their uproar the clear whistle of meadow larks.

"I must have back my money." The tinkers had now ceased disputing among themselves. They were grouped about the two men as if they were only spectators of an interesting dispute. "Back I must have my money!" cried Festus Clasby, his great hand going up in a mighty threat.