says he believes it was Will Montague's picture," said Felicity. "He saw her put it in. Father knows some of the things that are in the chest. He was ten years old, and he saw her pack it. There's a white muslin wedding dress and a veil—and—and—a—a"—Felicity dropped her eyes and blushed painfully.
"A petticoat, embroidered by hand from hem to belt," said the Story Girl calmly.
"And a china fruit basket with an apple on the handle," went on Felicity, much relieved. "And a tea set, and a blue candle-stick."
"I'd dearly love to see all the things that are in it," said the Story Girl.
"Pa says it must never be opened without Cousin Rachel's permission," said Cecily.
Felix and I looked at the chest reverently. It had taken on a new significance in our eyes, and seemed like a tomb wherein lay buried some dead romance of the vanished years.
"What happened to Will Montague?" I asked.
"Nothing!" said the Story Girl viciously. "He just went on living and flourishing. He patched up matters with his creditors after awhile, and came back to the Island; and in the end he married a real nice girl, with money, and was very happy. Did you ever hear of anything so unjust?"
"Beverley King," suddenly cried Felicity, who had been peering into a pot, "you've gone and put the turnips on to boil whole just like potatoes!"
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