cooking-stove, and standing close by her side while she held the dripping doughnuts over the kettle, and shook them up and down on the skimmer, read aloud Netty's letter.
"Well, I must say that's a very proper kind of a letter," said Captain 'Lisha in a gratified tone. "That fellow 's got the right feeling, whoever he is."
"What a pretty name Henrietta Larned is!" she said. "How pretty it looks written! She must be real nice, I 'm sure."
"Well, the man 's got a nice name, too," said Mrs. Bennet. "I like the sound of his name,—Joseph Hale. That 's a good name. A New York man, she says?"
Yes," said Tilly, slowly. "Perhaps he 's dead before this time. She says he was too sick to sit up."
"Ye 'll answer it, won't ye, Tilly?" said her father. "’T would n't be any more than civil, just to let him know ye got his message."
"I don't know," said Tilly, very slowly. "I hate to write letters. I have n't got anything to say to him. I might write to her."
"But she says write to him," said honest Mrs. Bennet; "she says they 're so glad to get letters in the hospital. Poor fellows, I should think they would be. I expect hospitals are horrid places. I 'd write to him if I was you, Tilly."
"You write, mother," said Tilly, laughing. "I don't know anything to say."
