t tell me what some of these words mean,'
he said, as he sat down to the table and began questioning his sister.

'I can tell you a good deal, because, you see, I am always down at Uncle
Howroyd's, and he lets me go into his office and talk to him while he is
working. I've often seen the other merchants and buyers come in; but it
seemed quite simple; they just ordered what they wanted, and Uncle
Howroyd put the pieces on.'

'Put the pieces on what?' inquired George. 'Don't laugh; tell me what
that means.'

'Put the pieces to be made on to the machines--the lengths of blanketing
or cloth,' said Sarah.

'Excuse me, Mr George, but Mr Blakeley is here,' said Ben the
gate-keeper, coming into the office.

'Who is Mr Blakeley?' inquired George.

'He's one of our buyers, sir,' replied the man.

'Oh George, I know him! Do have him shown in here,' entreated Sarah. 'He
is such a nice, good-humoured man.'

But circumstances alter cases, and Sarah was surprised to find that the
good-natured Mr Blakeley, whom she always saw smiling and ready to
complete a deal with her Uncle Howroyd, became a brusque, serious
business man with her brother.

'I have an order on hand here, Mr Clay; but I should prefer if you will
allow me to cancel it. I understand that there are changes in the mills,
and it is rather particular that it should be woven exactly as it was,'
he said, after having made some curt and perfunctory inquiries after Mr
Mark Clay's health.

George evidently did not understand what he meant, and was just saying,
with his usual courtesy, 'Oh, certainly; we should not, of course, hold
you to your word.'

But Sarah broke in. She had been used to talk to these men when they came
to see her uncle, and they had all admired the handsome girl, and showed
her attention to please her uncle, who was evidently very fond of her and
proud of his niece. So she felt no shyness with Mr Blakeley, and said,
'What difference do the changes make, Mr Blakeley? My father did not
weave the cloth, and the manager and foremen who looked after these
things are still here.'

Mr Blakeley looked at her, and an amused smile crept over his face at her
business-like tone. 'Quite true, Miss Sarah; but the weavers of this
particular cloth have left, I understand, and I would rather not trust it
to new ones.'

'Of course not,' began George.

But Sarah interrupted again. 'You'd better hear what our manager has to
say. Father won't be pleased if he