Bell asked no more questions: the johnny-cake seemed to be at a critical point; she stirred a.s.siduously, and Jack, turning to look at her, could see only the tip of a very rosy little ear under the brown, cl.u.s.tering 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?"

"No. From the manager of the Arion Quartette. They want me to go on a tour with them in the autumn, before the Conservatory opens. It's a great chance, and they offer me twice what I am worth."

"Oh, Jack!" cried Bell, turning her face, shining with pleasure, full on him. "How glorious! how perfectly glorious! Oh! this is great news indeed."

"There is only one difficulty," said Jack. "I have to provide my own accompanist."

"But you can easily do that!" said Bell.

"Can I?" cried Jack Ferrers, dropping the porridge spoon and coming forward, his two hands held out, his brown face in a glow. "Can I, Bell?

There is only one accompanist in the world for me, and I want her for life. Can I have her, my dear?"

"Oh, Jack!" cried Bell, and another spoon was dropped.

"Children, you are letting that porridge burn!" cried Mrs. Merryweather, as she hurried into the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Oh, Mammy, I am so sorry!" said Bell, looking up,

"All kind o' smily round the lips, And teary round the lashes."

"Oh, Mammy, I am so glad!" cried Jack Ferrers; and without more ado he kissed Mrs. Merryweather. "I like burnt porridge!" said this young gentleman.

CHAPTER XV.

CONCERNING VARIOUS THINGS

"WHERE are you going, Margaret?" asked w.i.l.l.y.

"Up to the farm. Bell lost one of her knitting-needles, and thought she might have dropped it there; she is up there now, hunting for it, and here it was in my tent all the time. Would you like to come with me, w.i.l.l.y?"

w.i.l.l.y twinkled with pleasure, and fell into step beside her, and the two walked along the pleasant gra.s.sy road through the fields, talking busily. They had become great friends, and w.i.l.l.y was never tired of hearing about Basil, who, he declared, "must certainly be a corker."

"I suppose he is, w.i.l.l.y," said Margaret, with resignation. "There seems nothing else for any nice person to be. Did I tell you how brave he was when a great savage dog attacked our poor puppies? Oh, you must hear that."

The recital of Basil's heroism lasted till they reached the farmhouse, both in a state of high enthusiasm, and w.i.l.l.y filled with ardent longings for attacks by savage dogs, that he might show qualities equal to those of the youthful hero. (N. B. Basil, honest, freckled, and practical, would have been much surprised to hear himself held up as a youthful embodiment of Bayard and the Cid in one.)

"I'll wait for you out here, Margaret," he said, when they came to the door. "No, I don't want to come in; they will tell me how I've grown, and I do get so tired of it. I'll sit on the fence and think; I like to think."

Margaret nodded sympathetically and went in. The door opened directly into a wide, sunny kitchen, as bright as sunshine and cleanliness could make it. An elderly woman was standing before a great wheel, spinning wool; beside her, Bell, Gertrude, and Peggy stood watching with absorbed attention. All looked up at Margaret's entrance, and the woman, who had a kind, strong face and sweet brown eyes, laid down her shuttle with a smile of welcome.

"I want to know if this is you," she said. "You're quite a stranger, ain't you? I kind o' looked for you when the gals come in."

"I meant to come, Mrs. Meadows, I truly did; but I was tidying up the tent, and I am so slow about it."

"Mrs. Meadows," said Peggy, laughing, "she wipes every nail-head three times a day, and goes over the whole with a microscope when she has finished, to see if she can find a speck of dust."

"Doos she so?" inquired Mrs. Meadows. "I don't hardly dare to ask her to set down in this room, then. What with the wool flyin' and all, it's a sight, most times."

"Now, Mrs. Meadows!" exclaimed Gertrude. "When you know you are almost as particular as she is! But, Margaret, do you see what we are doing? We are having a spinning lesson. It is _so_ exciting! Come and watch."

"I came to bring your knitting-needle," said Margaret. "Look! it was in my tent, just the end of it sticking out of a crack in the floor. If I had not tidied up, in the way you reprobate, Bell, you might never have got it again."

"Oh! yes, somebody would have stepped on it," laughed Bell. "But I confess I am very grateful for this special attack of tidying. Now, Mrs.

Meadows, I shall be all ready for that new yarn as soon as you have it spun."

"My land! don't you want I should color it? I was callatin' to color all this lot."

"No, I like this gray mixture so much; it is just the color for the boys' stockings. By the way, have you seen the boys, Mrs. Meadows? I was looking for them everywhere before I came up."

"Let me see, where did I see them boys?" Mrs. Meadows pondered, drawing the yarn slowly through her fingers. "Gerild and Phillup, you mean? They pa.s.sed through the yard right after dinner, I should say it was, on their velocipedies; going at a great rate, they was. Here's Jacob, mebbe he'll know."

Jacob, ma.s.sive and comely, in his customary blue overalls, entered, beaming shyly. "Good mornin', ladies!" he said. "Mother treatin' you well?"

"Very well, Jacob!" said Bell. "We are having a spinning lesson, and find it very interesting."

"I want to know. Well, I allers got on without that branch of edication myself," said Jacob. He was standing near the door, and the girls noticed that he kept his hands behind him.

"Mother, ain't you give the girls no apples?" he said.

"There!" cried Mrs. Meadows, apologetically. "I never thought on't."

"Now, ain't that a sight!" said Jacob, reprovingly. "I thought I could trust you not to let 'em starve, mother, but yet someways I felt I ought to bring the apples myself. I dono's they're fit to eat, though."

Still beaming shy benevolence, he brought from behind him a basket of beautiful rosy apples, every one of which had evidently been polished with care--and the sleeve of his coat.

"Oh, what perfect beauties!" cried the girls. "Oh, thank you, Jacob!"

"What kind are they?" asked Peggy. "They _are_ good!" Peggy never lost a moment in sampling an apple, and her teeth now met in the firm, crisp flesh with every sign of approval.

"Benoni! about the best fall apple there is, round these parts; that is, for any one as likes 'em crips. Some prefer a sweet apple, but I like a fruit that's got some sperit in it, same as I do folks. Well, I wish you all good appet.i.te; I must be goin' back to my hoein' lesson, I guess."

"Oh! Jacob, have you seen Jerry and Phil, lately?" asked Gertrude.