The antique dealer did not have a store. He roamed the country in an old horse drawn cart over the cobble stones of 1730 Austria. As he approached a town, most people would quickly go home. Nobody ever was known to be harmed by this dealer of things old and ancient but the aura of his presence instilled fear in all. One early evening, the cart stopped in a village. The dealer stepped down and walked slowly into a tavern. The inn emptied almost immediately upon his entrance and so he sat alone on a stool by a small table. The bar man, whose great frame was never challenged, was quiet and uneasy. The dealer waited patiently for about fifteen minutes and finally stood and walked to the barman. I have hunger and thirst and you have ignored me. For that unholy welcome, I give you this and he handed the tavern owner a small vial filled with a dark red liquid. “This”, he said in a small but vivid voice, “is the blood of a twelve year old girl. It is now in your hands and is your responsibility. Because of your inhospitable ways, not one girl child in this village will ever live past the age of twelve.” The barman, then quite nervous and not quite sure what to do, apologized passionately, in fear of his own young daughters life. He screamed at his wife to bring the guest the best food in the house and the finest wine, but the antique dealer just shook his head slowly. "No, my friend", he said, it is too late to humor me now. But for your attempt, you may come with me to my cart and exchange the vial for something of equal value. Perhaps you will learn your lesson." The barman followed the antique dealer to his cart. When he looked in he gripped his heart and fell down dead. The last thing his eyes saw were three vials labeled, Mother, Son and Father. Later, down the road, the Antique Dealer was thinking of replacing the labels from the vials back to his stock of old candles. And the blood in the vials...only sugar water and juice, an occasional treat for his tired body.