winter. He was handsome—everybody says so"—
"And an awful flirt," said Felicity.
"Felicity, I wish you wouldn't interrupt. It spoils the effect. What would you feel like if I went and kept stirring things that didn't belong to it into that pudding? I feel just the same way. Well, Will Montague fell in love with Rachel Ward, and she with him, and it was all arranged that they were to be married from here in the spring. Poor Rachel was so happy that winter; she made all her wedding things with her own hands. Girls did, then, you know, for there was no such thing as a sewing-machine. Well, at last in April the wedding day came, and all the guests were here, and Rachel was dressed in her wedding robes, waiting for her bridegroom. And"—the Story Girl laid down her knife and her potato and clasped her wet hands—"Will Montague never came!"
We felt as much of a shock as if we had been one of the expectant guests ourselves.
"What happened to him? Was he killed too?" asked Felix.
The Story Girl sighed and resumed her work.
"No, indeed. I wish he had been. That would have been suitable and romantic. No, it was just something horrid. He had to run away for debt! Fancy! He acted mean right through, Aunt Janet says. He never sent even a word to Rachel, and she never heard from him again."
129
