Bell was silent for a moment; then, "I have often wondered—" she said, and broke off short.
"So have I!" said Jack. "I don't know now why I didn't. Yes, I do, too."
"Why?" asked Bell, her eyes on her mixing-bowl.
"It's hard to put it into words," said Jack, with a queer little laugh. "I suppose I felt that I never should have had a chance; but—but yet, I am not sure that I should not have tried my luck, even then, if—if something else had not happened to me."
Bell asked no more questions: the johnny-cake seemed to be at a critical point; she stirred assiduously, and Jack, turning to look at her, could see only the tip of a very rosy little ear under the brown, clustering hair.
There was another silence, broken only by the singing of the teakettle and the soft, thick "hub-bubble" of the boiling porridge.
"Bell!" said Jack, presently.
"Yes, Jack."
"I had another letter last night, that I haven't told you about yet."
"From Hilda?"