The flower man’s words echoed in the air, a testament to the joy that even the smallest act of commerce can bring. “I’m only charging you sixpence,” he said, his voice carrying the warmth of a summer’s day.
The old lady, with a heart as full as her modest purse, nodded in appreciation. The sixpence, though small, was a symbol of the happiness that had passed from hand to hand, from the Mint to the market, and now to the flower stall.
As she walked away, the sixpence tucked safely in the flower man’s till, she couldn’t help but feel that the world was a little brighter, a little kinder. And as she made her way home to her husband, the sixpence continued its silent, joyful journey, leaving a trail of smiles in its wake.