“How was I to tell? When gels keep company with young men there’s never no knowing when they’ll make up their minds to wed ’em. Anyhow I bought some supper this morning, and here it be. You come and look, Jill.”
Poll took her daughter’s hand with almost unnecessary force, and opening a cupboard in the wall, showed a fresh loaf of bread, a pat of butter, some radishes, a good-sized pork-pie, and a pound of uncooked sausages.
“There’s a few potatoes in a bag there,” said Poll. “We’ll put ’em down to boil, and set the sausages on to fry. Ain’t that a good enough supper even for Nat, Jill?”
“Oh, mother, it’s a feast fit for a wedding,” said Jill, laughing with pleasure. “And flowers, I do declare! Mother, there’s no one like you. You forgets nothing.”
“Don’t praise me to-night, child, I can’t quite abear it,” said Poll. “Go and smarten yourself up for that young man of yourn, and let your old mother cook the supper.”
Jill went into the other room, coiled her black hair freshly round her head, took off her gaily-coloured apron, and put on in its place a white one trimmed with embroidery. In her hair she stuck a crimson rose, and came back to the kitchen looking demure and sweet.
Nat arrived in good time, accompanied by his sister, Susy. The boys came in after their day’s work, and the whole party sat down to the excellent supper which Poll had prepared.
The meal was nearly drawing to a close when Susy, bending forward, said in her sharp voice to Jill—
“Nat tells me that you and he will most likely wed one another afore the next Bank Holiday.”
Jill coloured, glanced at Nat, who was watching her with all his heart in his eyes, and then nodded to Susy.