And so things went along, and they was all jolly except me, but I had it tugging at my heart day and night, that the little gell as ’ad been my very own these seventeen years wouldn’t be mine no longer soon, and, God forgive me, I hated Bill Jarvis, and I wouldn’t ’ave been sorry if I’d ’eard as ’arm ’ad come to him.

The wedding was fixed for the Saturday; we was to ’ave a nice little spread at the Rose and Crown, and the young folks was to go ’ome and stay at old Jarvis’s at Farleigh, and I was to lose my Pretty.  And on the Friday night, my old man, ’e went up to the Rose and Crown to see about things and to get a drink along of ’is mates, and when ’e come back I looked to see ’im a little bit on maybe, as was only natural, the night before the weddin’ and all.  But ’e come back early, and ’e come back sober, but with a face as white as my apron.

‘Bess,’ says ’e to me, ‘where’s the girl?’

’She’s in ‘er bunk asleep,’ says I, ‘lookin’ as pretty as a picture.  She’s been out with ‘er sweet’eart,’ says I.  ’O Tom, this is the last night she’ll lay in that little bunk as she’s laid in every night of ’er life, except that wicked fortnight we sent ’er to school.’

’Look ‘ere,’ says ’e, speaking in a whisper, ’I’ve ’eard summat up at the Rose and Crown:  Bank’s broke, and all our money’s gone.  I see it in the paper, so it must be true.’

‘You don’t mean it, Tom,’ says I; ‘it can’t be true.’

‘’Tis true, though, by God,’ says ’e, ’’ere, don’t take on so, old girl,’ for I’d begun to cry.  ’More’s been lost on market-days, as they say:  our little girl’s well provided for, for old Jarvis, ’e’s a warm man.’

’She won’t ’ave a day’s peace all ‘er life,’ says I, ‘goin’ empty-’anded into that ’ouse.  I know old Mother Jarvis—­a cat:  we’d best tell the child, p’raps she won’t marry ’im if she knows she’s nothing to take to ‘im,’ and, God forgive me, my ’eart jumped up at the thought.

‘No, best leave it be,’ says my old man, ’they’re fair sweet on each other.’

And so the next morning we all went up to the church, me cryin’ all the way as if it was ‘er buryin’ we was a-goin’ to and not ’er marryin’.  The parson was at the church and a lot of folks as knew us, us ‘avin’ bin in those parts so long; but none of the bridegroom’s people was there, nor yet the bridegroom.

And we waited and we waited, my Pretty as pale as a snowdrop in her white bonnet.  And when it was a hour past the time, Tom, ’e ups and says out loud in the church, for all the parson and me said ‘’Ush!’ ‘I’m goin’ back ‘ome,’ says ’e; ‘there won’t be no weddin’ to-day; ’e shan’t ’ave ‘er now,’ says my old man, ’not if ’e comes to fetch ‘er in a coach and six cram full of bank-notes,’ says ’e.