“Somebody read it, an’ somebody wrote it!”
“Wasn’t it Giles?” faltered Hannah, turning pale beneath her tan, and
beginning to tremble violently. Some instinct of womanly compassion
suddenly sobered Alice. Pushing through the hedge she made her way to
Hannah’s side.
“’Twas but a joke, my dear,” she explained somewhat shamefacedly.
“There, ’tis the first of April, ye see, an’ we jist thought we’d play ye
a bit of trick. ’Twas made up jist for fun. We wrote Giles a letter in
your name asking him to meet ye here an’ sayin’—sayin’—”
“What did ye say?” interrupted Hannah, the colour rushing back to her
shamed, distressed face. “Oh, Mr Neale, you thought it was me. I’d
never ha’ wrote no letter, I’d never ha’ been so bold. I—I wouldn’t ha’
come here wi’out I thought ’twas you as axed me. I had a letter this
marnin’ signed in your name. I thought ’twas from you—I thought—”
Breaking off suddenly she raised her apron to her eyes.
Giles made a step towards her, pushed Alice roughly on one side, and
jerked the apron down.
“Give over cryin’,” he exclaimed gruffly. “Let’s get at the rights o’
this. I must have a look at that there letter—give it to me.”
“Oh, I’d never have the face,” Hannah was beginning when he silenced her
with the reiterated command in a raised voice—
“Give it to me, I say! I’ll ha’ the rights o’ this—dalled if I don’t!”
Very reluctantly Hannah drew the fateful missive from her bosom, a
suppressed titter once more breaking the silence which had reigned since
the jest had threatened to take a serious turn. Giles unfolded the
letter, read it slowly, and then, with an impassive face, handed it back
to its original recipient.
“You can keep it,” he remarked. “It’s my letter right enough.”
“Well, that is a good ’un!” exclaimed the irrepressible Jem.
Giles glowered round at him.
“It’s my letter,” he repeated doggedly. “It’s my name what’s signed at
the end, an’ every word what’s in it be mine.”
“Giles!” exclaimed Hannah, almost inarticulately. Giles turned
majestically towards her.
“It’s right, I tell ’ee,” he said firmly. “I’m not a great hand at
letter-writin’, an’ as like as not if I’d ha’ tried for to put down what
be in my mind I shouldn’t ha’ done it so clever. I’m much obliged to
you, neighbours,” he added, raising his voice, and looking triumphantly
round at the astonished faces. Then, with a sudden shout of laughter he
exclaimed—
“Who’s April fools now?”
“Well, there, I’ll say you have the best o’ it, Giles,” said somebody
good-humouredly. “I be right down glad the matter be going to end this
way.”
“Thank ye,” said Giles.
“We be to wish ye j’y, be we?” said Lizzie, with a scarcely perceptible
toss of her head.
“I d’ ’low ye be,” he affirmed gravely.
“Well, I be pure glad, Hannah, my dear, I’m sure,” said Alice, smiling
doubtfully at Hannah as she backed through the hedge.
Hannah made no response; she, too, was looking doubtful, almost piteous,
as she gazed at Giles’ unmoved countenance.
The company filed away, feeling somewhat flat; the joke had unaccountably
missed fire. Jem, who was the last to pass through the gap, made a final
attempt to put Giles out of countenance.
“’Tis easy seen you be a man o’ taste, Giles,” he called out. “She be
the vittiest maid in the whole o’ Darset, bain’t she?”
“She be,” assented Giles with fervour, “jist about.”
He strode towards the hedge, and stood watching the somewhat
depressed-looking little procession which filed across the field. When
it had disappeared behind the big hayrick at the corner, he turned to
Hannah. She had again thrown her apron over her head, and was weeping
behind it. He went towards her and pulled it down—very gently this time.
“We have the best of it, I think,” he observed.
“Oh, Giles,” sobbed she. “You must think—oh, I don’t know what you must
think!”
“I do think what’s wrote in my letter,” said Giles.
“Nay now, you couldn’t,” said Hannah, but there was an unconscious appeal
in her voice. “You couldn’t ever think I was a vitty maid.”
“Well, don’t you think I be a ’andsome man, my dear?” cried Giles,
advancing, his broad face beaming with good-humoured smiles towards her.
“I do, indeed I do,” cried Hannah with eager enthusiasm. “There, I do
think ye be the handsomest and nicest man ever I did see. Handsome is as
handsome does. An’ I d’ ’low you’ve acted handsome.”
“Well, if you think so, I’m satisfied,” responded Giles; then, after a
pause, he added with his most knowing twinkle—
“Since we agree so well I d’ ’low we mid jist so well fall over pulpit at
once.”
* * * * *
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