Down by the churchyard the crowd had long secured to itself the best positions, the favourite places for viewing the coming and departing of the bridal party being the churchyard wall and the two railed tombs; but the boys put up with tombstones, and hurrahed till they were hoarse.
Jacky Budd got the first cheer, as he went up solemnly to the church door, evidently feeling his own importance, but he was checked half-way along the path by some one saying in a quiet, remonstrating tone—
“Say, Jacky, wean’t yow stop an’ hev a drain?”
He looked sharply round, and his hand went to his mouth, while a roar of laughter rose up from the merry crowd, and hastened his steps into the porch.
Trappy Pape was the next to be joked, as he came up hugging the green baize bag containing his violoncello.
“Say, Trappy, hast thee fed thee be-ast?” said one.
“Hast giv’ the poor owd fiddle its rozzum?” cried another.
“Trappy, lad,” shouted another, “does ta sleep inside that owd thing?”
The violoncello player hurried into the church, and Joey South came into view, to the great delight of the crowd.
“Here comes owd Poll Pry,” cried one.