As Ellen entered the general store she noticed that it held a conglomeration of all sorts of goods. The drugs were on a row of shelves at the farther end of a long counter, neighboring the piles of gingham, flannelettes, and such dry-goods. Next came canned articles and groceries. These led the way to hardware, which followed shoes. At the extreme end of the store was the post-office. The middle of the store was occupied by such vegetables and fruits as were in season. In the glass cases were notions, candies, and stationery. The loft up-stairs was given up to crockery and house furnishings.
Ellen stood just inside the door for a moment and looked around. She had never seen just such a place in her life, and wondered how on earth the proprietors managed to keep track of such a mixed stock. There was no one in the store, but presently a voice from behind the post-office box called out, “I’ll be there in just a minute,” and before long a slim, dark-eyed little woman appeared. “He’s gone to the city,” she explained, “and I’m kind of short-handed, for the boy has gone out with the orders. What was it you wanted?”
“I want some black dye.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Miss Orinda Crump.”
“Oh, Rindy Crump. What’s she going to dye?”
“Several things.”
“Silk, cotton, wool, or mixed goods?”
“Why, all kinds, I think.”
“Then I’d better give you a package for each, and if she doesn’t need all, she can return what she doesn’t use. Kin of hers?”