The Bar Room, the Stags the Equinoctial Sky.

He had been closed now for almost 400 days. Three slow knocks sounded on the front door, followed by two rapid ones as if a code were being employed. He did not recognize the man but his mood turned quickly sombre as he moved to the front door. It wasn't debt, by any chance, that stood there. As he opened the door, the man turned to him with an owl's incredulous eyes and spoke lowly to inquire. There's a cuckoo in the bushes beyond the schoolyard. Would you sell me a pint? I can't do that. Some are doing so in the towns. I have no stock at all. Hard old times.