t suddenly calling to mind that poor Jacob
had bought this knot for her of a pedlar at the door, and that she
had promised to wear it for his sake, her heart smote her, and she
laid it by, sighing to think she was not fated to marry the man who
had given it to her. When she had looked at herself twenty times in
the glass (for one vain action always brings on another) she set off
trembling and shaking every step she went. She walked eagerly toward
the church-yard, not daring to look to the right or left, for fear
she would spy Jacob, who would have offered to walk with her, and so
have spoilt it all. As soon as she came within sight of the wall,
she spied a man sitting upon it: her heart beat violently. She
looked again; but alas! the stranger not only had on a black coat,
but neither hair nor eyes answered the description. She now happened
to cast her eyes on the church-clock, and found she was two hours
before her time. This was some comfort. She walked away and got rid
of the two hours as well as she could, paying great attention not
to walk over any straws which lay across, and carefully looking to
see if there were never an old horse-shoe in the way, that
infallible symptom of good-fortune. While the clock was striking
seven, she returned to the church-yard, and O! the wonderful power
of fortune tellers! there she saw him! there sat the very man! his
hair as light as flax, his eyes as blue as butter-milk, and his
shoulders as round as a tub. Every tittle agreed, to the very
nosegay in his waistcoat button-hole. At first, indeed, she thought
it had been sweet-briar, and glad to catch at a straw, whispered to
herself, It is not he, and I shall marry Jacob still; but on looking
again, she saw it was southern-wood plain enough, and that of course
all was over. The man accosted her with some very nonsensical, but
too acceptable, compliments. She was naturally a modest girl, and
but for Rachel's wicked arts, would not have had courage to talk
with a strange man; but how could she resist her fate you know?
After a little discourse, she asked him with a trembling heart, what
might be his name? Robert Price, at your service, was the answer.
"Robert Price, that is R. P. as sure as I am alive, and the fortune
teller was a witch! It is all out! O the wonderful art of fortune
tellers!"

The little sleep she had that night was disturbed with dreams of
graves, and ghosts, and funerals, but as they were morning dreams,
she knew t