The wind swept through in a sighing whirl. William watched as the leaves gathered and fell, dancing along the ground. He took a deep breath of autumn air and, as he exhaled, he stopped to look at the sheep in the meadow.
“I’m going to own me own, one day,” he said to himself. As he walked the path to town, he started to whistle. He was only twenty-two and still worked alongside his father in the little leather shop in the village, making and repairing shoes. William wanted more. He wanted his own little cottage across the Touley River, away from the village. A place he had often dreamed of that he could call his own. He could see sheep in the meadow and a pen beside a small shed. He could see a small cottage; two rooms, maybe three, with a fireplace and a small stoop out front. William dreamed about this every day as he walked to work and while he cut leather and sewed shoes. He even allowed himself to dream of a wife, maybe, one day. One day.
The Touley Bridge crossed the river that separated the village from the farmers and fields. It had been built before William’s father was born and probably long before that. It was an old arched stone bridge, wide enough for a horse and cart, and when you went down to the edge of the river and looked under, you couldn’t see much for the darkness beneath. In the spring, the water rose and almost touched the underside, but in autumn, the water was low and lazy and the rocks showed themselves under the sun. 
William’s father worked quietly in his shop and wasn’t much for talk, but the one thing you could be sure of was, both men whistled while they worked. William sat at the bench beside his father every day and this day, he wasn’t whistling. His father looked long and hard at his son and set his awl down.
“William,” he started. “What be on yer mind? You are so quiet today.”
William took a deep breath.
“Every day, father, I walk the bridge and see the sheep in the meadow and every day, I wish they be mine. I long for a herd of me own and a place I can start a family.”
“Aye,” the older man said. “You be a man now and want a man’s life do ye?”
 “I do, sir.” William answered.
“If you work hard and save, you might be able to buy a small plot of land across the river and, one day, build a cottage of your own. Put in your work here, son, and I’ll pay ye a fair wage.”
William was beside himself. His father was going to start paying him for his work. True to his word, three years later, William’s father handed his son a handful of money and told him to cross the river and see what he could buy to call his own.
William left the shop early that day and, with his money in his pocket, he set off across Touley Bridge and went to the first farmer he found and asked to buy a plot of land. The farmer was more than happy to sell him three acres and, as they walked the land, William put in stakes and paid the man for his purchase. Sitting down on his plot, he smiled. The land was just on the east side of the road and had a few trees along the edge. William was happy. He went back to his father and told him what he had done.
“Now that ye have your land,” his father said, “if you work hard and save, ye might be able to build a cottage on that land in a few years.”