class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[20]"/> gave vent to a low growl, as he surveyed the new comers.

"Good fellow, nice fellow," said Bessie, coaxingly, putting out her hand towards him as she did so; but the good, nice fellow's growl deepened into a loud, savage bay. The children stood still, irresolute whether to retreat or not. Attracted by the noise, a pale, sickly girl about fifteen years of age, came to the door, and leaning over the lower half which was shut, seemed by looking at them to ask what they wanted.

"Please," said Bessie, "would you mind lending me a tin dipper to drink out of at your well?"

"Haven't got any well," said the girl; "but you can drink out of the spring if you've a mind to. There it is, down by that log: it runs right from under it. You'll find a mug lying 'long side. Do stop your noise, Tiger."

The children set down their baskets, and moved towards the spring very gladly. They found the mug, and each enjoyed a drink of the pure, cold water. While doing so, they observed that near the little barn at the rear of the house, a man was harnessing a sleek, comfortable looking horse to a market wagon, laden with cabbages and potatoes. The man was thin and white looking, and it seemed to the children as if the proper place for him were his bed. He did not see the visitors, but went on with his work. The girls having finished drinking, returned to the front door, over which still leaned the sickly girl.

"Much obliged to you," said Nelly, "it's a beautiful spring; clear and cold as ever I saw."

"'Tisn't healthy though," said the girl; "leastways, we think it's that that brings us all down with the fever every spring and fall."

"The fever!" echoed Bessie, "what fever?"

"The fever'n nager," replied the girl. "Mother is in bed with it now, and though father is getting ready to go to town to market, the shakin' is on him right powerful. I'm the only one that keeps about, and that is much as ever, too."

"What makes you drink it?" asked Bessie. "I wouldn't, if it made me so sick."

"Have to," said the girl, "there is no other water hereabouts."

"Can't your father move?" said Nelly.

The girl shook her head.

"Wouldn't he like to, if he could?" continued Nelly.

"I guess not," said the girl, "we mean to get used to it. We can't afford to move. Father owns the place, and he has no chance to sell it. The farm is good, too. We raise the best cabbages and potatoes around here. Guess you've been nutting, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Bessie, with some pride, "we have those two baskets and this bag full."

"Is it much fun?" asked the girl pleasantly.

"Splendid," said Bessie; "don't you ever try it?"

"No; I'm always too sick in nut season—have the shakes. But I do believe I should like to some time. Are you two little girls going soon again?"

"I don't know," said Bessie, "may be so. If we do, shan't we stop and see if you are able to go along? Your house isn't much out of the way; we can stop just as well as not."

The pale girl looked quite gratified at these words of Bessie, but said that she didn't know whether the "shakes" would allow her.

"Well," said Bessie, "we will stop for you, anyway. My mother would say, I am sure, that the walk would do you good. Good-by. I hope you will all get better soon."

"Stop a moment," said the girl, "don't you live somewhere down by the Brooks' farm?"

"Yes," said Nelly, "that is my home, and Bessie lives only a little way beyond."

"I thought so," said the girl, smiling, "I think I've seen you when I have been riding by with father. He's going that way, now: wouldn't you like to get in the wagon with him? He will pass your house."

"Oh, I guess his load is heavy enough already," said Nelly.

"Nonsense," said the girl; "you just wait here, while I go ask him."

She darted off before they could detain her, and in a short time more, the horse and wagon appeared round the corner of the house, the man driving the fat horse (which, as far as the children could see, was the only fat living creature on the place), and the girl walking at the wagon side.

"There they are," the children heard her say, as she neared them.

The man smiled good naturedly, and bade Bessie and Nelly jump in. He arranged a comfortable seat for them on the board on which he himself sat.

"But isn't your load very heavy already, sir?" asked Nelly.

"Not a bit of it," said the farmer; "my horse will find it only a trifle, compared to what we usually take. It isn't full market day to-morrow is the reason. Jump in! jump in!"

The children needed no other bidding, but clambered up by the spokes of the great wheels and seated themselves, one on each side of the farmer, who took their nuts, and placed them safely back among his vegetables.

Then he cracked his whip, and called out, "Good-by, Dolly. I'll be home about eleven o'clock to-night. Take good care of your mother."

The next moment the little girls were in the road, going homeward as fast as the sleek horse could carry them.

CHAPTER II.
THE RIDE HOME.

"So you've been nutting, eh?" said Mr. Dart (for that was the farmer's name), looking first on one side of him and then on the other, where his two companions sat.

"Yes, sir," said Nelly, "and we have had real good luck too. Only see how full our baskets are."

"Dolly told me you were going to stop for her some time, to go nutting with you," said the farmer, turning round as he spoke, and putting a cabbage that was jolting out of the wagon back into its place. "I am glad of that: I hope she will be able to accompany you. If you should chance to come on one of her well days, I guess she will."

"Well days, sir?" asked Bessie.

"Yes; she has the fever'n nager pretty bad, and that brings her a sick day and a well day, by turns. It's the natur' of the disease."

"What! sick every other day!" cried Bessie;—"well, if that is not too bad! And she seems so good too. Why, we owe this ride to her."

"Yes," said the farmer, "Dolly is a pretty good little girl. Never had much trouble with Dolly in all her life. She's always willin' to help round the house as much as she can, and now that her mother is down with the nager, I couldn't get along without her, anyway. In the summer time Dolly makes garden with the best of us. Many is the field she's sowed with grain, after I've ploughed it up. Half of these ere cabbages Dolly cut and put in the wagon herself. You see that little basket back in the corner?"

The children looked back in the wagon, and there, sure enough, was a small covered basket, jolting around among the potatoes.

"That's Dolly's water cresses," said Mr. Dart. "I haven't taken a load to market for the last month without Dolly's basket of watercresses. She gathers them herself, down in our meadow, where the ground is wet and soft, and where they thrive like every thing. They seem to be getting poor now, and I don't believe Doll will be able to pick many more this year. Why, the money that girl has made off them cresses is wonderful. I always hand it right over to her, and she puts it by to save against a time of need. Cresses sell just like wildfire in our market-place,—I mean, of course, fine ones like my Dolly's are in their