“Would ye now? Not that I ever set up to be a handsome man, ye know,” he added more seriously. “Handsome is as handsome does,” exclaimed Hannah, in so heart-whole a fashion that Giles did not ask himself if the compliment were somewhat left-handed. “Well, if your ’eart’s mine, that’s enough,” went on Giles, after an interval devoted to conscientious endeavours to recall the exact wording of the portentous letter. “I’m willin’—there, ye have it plain. I’m willin’.” “Well,” said Hannah, “I’m sure I’m very thankful to ye, Giles. I be proud to think as I be your ch’ice, an’ I’ll do my very best for to make ye comfortable an’ happy.” Giles, pleasantly conscious that this courtship, unlooked for though it might have been, was progressing on lines that were eminently orthodox and satisfactory, eyed her approvingly for some moments, and then, with a burst of enthusiasm, tightened his grip of her solid waist, and exclaimed— “I d’ ’low I be ’appy an’ comfortable now.” During the subsequent pause Jem Frisby thrust his sunburnt face between the catkin-tipped willow saplings which protruded from his corner of the hedge, and almost choked with laughter as he announced— “They be a-kissin’ of each other!” The middle-aged lovers sat on for some time in extreme enjoyment of the situation. The spring sunshine fell across their knees and their sturdy clasped hands; the birds sang over their heads, the twisted boughs of the old thorn waved in the light breeze, the leaf-buds, already green though not yet unfolded, flashing like jewels in the light. The bank beneath the hedge was gay with celandines, and the air was sweet with the scent of primroses, with which the place was carpeted, though few of the flowers were yet in full bloom. 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!”