"Half-a-crown!"
The wife of Mac-an-Ward threw out her arms in a wild gesture of despair. "My God!" she cried. "I sold it. I wronged my sick brother."
"Where did you sell it, mother?"
"Here, to this handsome dark man."
"How much did he pay?"
"Eighteen-pence."
The three youngsters raised their hard faces to the sky and raised a long howl, like beagles who had lost their quarry.
Suddenly the woman's face brightened. She looked eagerly at Festus Clasby, then laid the hand of friendship, of appeal, on his arm.
"I have it!" she cried, joyfully.
"Have what?" asked Festus Clasby.