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.