Giles and Hannah were scarcely conscious of their surroundings, yet in some indefinite way these added to their blissful state. Just as Giles, with that twinkle in his eyes which heralded, as Hannah had perceived, some particularly ardent speech, had nudged her meaningly and enquired “What about bein’ called home,” the church clock struck nine, and at the same time the blare of the brewery “whooter” fell upon their ears. Simultaneously with these sounds, others, even more discordant than the hooter startled the pair, who scrambled to their feet in time to see a row of gesticulating figures surmounted by grinning faces, spring up from behind the hedge, which they had believed to shelter them.
“April fools, haw, haw!” . . . “I d’ ’low ye be a proper pair on ’em!”
“April fool, Hannah! Giles, ye be an April fool!”
“We took in the pair o’ ye nicely!”
This was the chorus which greeted their bewildered ears, interspersed with shouts of laughter, while fingers were pointed and heads were shaken waggishly. Giles was the first to recover his self-possession.
“What be the meanin’ o’ this?” he enquired angrily. “It’s too bad if a man can’t step out to have a quiet word wi’ a ’ooman!”
“More particular when the ’ooman’s took sich a mortal fancy to ’en!” interpolated Lizzie, holding her sides.
“Yes,” cried Alice, quick to take up her cue. “Why, Hannah’s heart have a-been yours two year an’ more. I’m sure I don’t wonder at it,” she added, “Sich a ’andsome man as you be.”
“Who’s been a-tellin’ ye about that?” growled Giles, turning very red.
“Ask Hannah!” ejaculated Lizzie, in a voice that was scarcely articulate for laughter. “Ask the vittiest maid in the whole o’ Darset.”