"John," Mr. Arnolds called to the young man behind the counter, "I need ya' to get a bolt of dreadnaught down for me."

"Yes sir."

Without having to be instructed as to which bolt Mr. Arnolds was referring to, John crossed the store in a few lengthy strides and pulled down the bolt of heavy woolen cloth. He held it while the woman who requested it fingered the cloth's edges.

"It's fine quality wool, from the mills in Milton," Mr. Arnolds informed her, and she nodded in agreement.

After the woman made her decision, John laid the bolt on the counter for a length of the fabric to be cut. Mr. Arnolds said he could do this, and motioned that John could return to his task. After finishing adding up the accounts, John stepped into the backroom to see how things were coming along there.

"Tom, what are you up to?" he snapped as he found one of the apprentices lounging against some bundles of cambric and calico. "You're supposed to be readying that order, not taking a snooze."

"Sorry, John." Tom Carter jumped to attention.

"That's Mr. Thornton to you. Get along now."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's Henry?" John inquired, looking around and not seeing the other apprentice.

"He's harnessing the horses for Mr. Arnolds to go to Milton." Tom said over his shoulder, scurrying back to work. The snub-nosed boy had only been here a month, and already John could tell that Mr. Arnold regretted taking him on. Henry Lloyd, on the other hand, had worked for the draper longer then John had, and was only a few years younger. He was much more promising, and would most likely take over the shop one day. If someone had asked Mr. Arnolds about that however, he would most likely say he wished John to take the shop. John did not mind the work, but he was nearly 20 now, and life in the little town was too stifling for him. Even if he did move up and take over the shop from Mr. Arnolds, there he would be stuck. If he could get a job in one of the mills in Milton, from there he could move up, and maybe even own a mill himself one day. What different aspirations he had now, compared to what he thought life would be while he was still at Glenwood. How things had changed.

Mr. Arnolds came back into the workroom once his customer was gone and laid a hand on John's shoulder.

"I was plannin' on going to Milton today, but I don't think my back can take the ride there. I'd like you to go for me to pick up the order."

"Me, sir?"

"You've been with me plenty of times and know how things go. Take Henry along, and you should get things loaded and back before supper." Mr. Arnold placed a hand on the small of his back and straightened up with a grimace. "'course, it may be hard to keep Tom in order while you're away, but I think I can manage."

"Yes, sir," John replied, with a hint of smile.

"I don't know why I haven't sent you before; it would have saved me rather a lot of trouble."

John gave him a sideways look as he turned to finish knotting up a bundle. "Don't you always say you like to have a look over things yourself before handing over the money?"

"That I do, but I trust your judgment, lad. Just watch that Mr. Hawkins doesn't try to pass off some reject materiel on you. He thinks my patrons in this little town won't know the difference, but we know proper quality, don't we?"

"We do, sir."

"Right then. Off with you and Henry soon as you can."

As John donned his overcoat, Mr. Arnolds handed him the payment for the order. John tucked it deep in the inner pocket of his coat, and headed out back to the wagon.

Henry was ready and waiting, and quite delighted to hear that he was to accompany John.

The steady rainfall that had plagued the last week was letting up for this morning. The road was still riddled with muddy potholes, but as long as John kept the wagon near the center of the road, travel went smoothly.

Henry sat up straight, shoulders back, but still he was no match for John's height. His shaggy, nut-brown hair fell into his eyes as he looked up at the sky, squinting at the sun that now showed itself after its long absence.

"You think the rain's over finally? Maybe we needn't have brought those tarps to cover the order," he said.

John glanced up, and then shook his head. "Who knows how long it will hold. It's better to be safe."

The clop, clop, clop of the horse's hooves on the sodden ground punctuated the following silence, until Henry spoke again.

"Miss Tystad was in the shop again yesterday evening after you went home."

"Was there something wrong with her purchase?"

"Oh no, she only wanted to thank you for helping her the day before. You should have heard her rave about how you cut her materiel so precisely, and how you were so careful when you folded it up and packaged it-"

"Stop it, Henry."

"It's true! Those were her very words, I swear on my grandmother's grave they were." Henry smirked at John, who pretended not to notice.

"She comes into the shop so often," Henry continued, "that I'm surprised she didn't know you wouldn't be there."

"And why would that be of importance?" John grumbled.

"Because she comes in to see you, you dolt. Don't deny that you haven't noticed." Henry laughed.

"She does not. She comes in to waste her poor father's money, and she gawks at any boy she sees."

"She never gawks at me. It's you she fancies, John, and I have to say, I am a mite jealous. A pretty girl like her-"

"Just shut it, Henry."

"All right, I won't mention it again."

"Good."

Clop, clop…clop, clop…clop, clop…clop, clop.

"What do you think of Miss Tystad, John?"

"Henry, if you say another word, I'll have no qualms about knocking you off the wagon," John replied, flicking the reigns to speed their pace.

Henry sealed his lips after one last gleeful smile.

What did John think about Miss Tystad? He thought her annoying, careless, and silly. She could bat her eyelashes and flatter him all she wanted, but if a girl were ever to catch his attention, she certainly would not be one like that.