Something caught Curdie's eye. He stooped, picked up a piece of the stone he had just broken, and put it in his pocket.
"I suppose you are going to break another of my windows with that stone!" said the barber.
"Oh no," said Curdie. "I didn't mean to break your window, and I certainly won't break another."
"Give me that stone," said the barber.
Curdie gave it him, and the barber threw it over the city wall.
"I thought you wanted the stone," said Curdie.
"No, you fool!" answered the barber. "What should I want with a stone?"
Curdie stooped and picked up another.
"Give me that stone," said the barber.
"No," answered Curdie. "You have just told me you don't want a stone, and I do."
The barber took Curdie by the collar.
"Come, now! you pay me for that window."
"How much?" asked Curdie.
The barber said, "A crown." But the baker, annoyed at the heartlessness of the barber, in thinking more of his broken window than the bump on his friend's forehead, interfered.
"No, no," he said to Curdie; "don't you pay any such sum. A little pane like that cost only a quarter."
