prime."

"Cresses," said Bessie, with growing interest, "do people really pay money for cresses? Why, the field back of our house is full of 'em! They have great, thick, green leaves, and they look as healthy as possible."

"Do they?" said the farmer, smiling at her kindly; "well, then I can just tell you your folks are fortunate. They ought to sell 'em and make money out of them."

"I wish we could," said Bessie, clasping her hands at the thought, "how glad mother would be if we could! Mother is sick, sir, and cannot do all the work she used, to earn money."

"Ah," said the former, with a look of concern; "I am sorry to hear that, my little girl. I know what it is to be sick, and have sick folks about me. What's the matter? has she got the nager too?"

"No, sir," said Bessie, "we don't have that down our way. I don't know what does ail mother. She sort o' wastes away and grows thin and pale."

"Like enough it's the nager," said the farmer; "there is nothing like it for making a body thin and pale."

"That's Bessie's house," cried Nelly, as a sudden turn in the road revealed their two homes, at the foot of the hill, "that white one with the smoke curling out of the left hand chimney."

"And a nice little place it is too," said the farmer. "I pass right by it almost every day, and sometimes in the middle of the night, when all little girls are in their beds and asleep."

Bessie looked at the kind-hearted farmer, and wondered to herself what could bring him so near her home in the nighttime. As her thoughts by this time were pretty well filled with what he called the "nager," she concluded that it must be for the purpose of getting the doctor for himself and his family. The farmer, however, who seemed fond of talking, soon undeceived her.

"You see," he began, "that it is a very long drive from my house to town, say eight miles, at the least, and when I start as I have to-day, about sundown, it takes me, with a heavy load, generally, till half past eight o'clock to get to the market. Well, then I unload, and sell out to a regular customer I have, a man who keeps a stand of all sorts of vegetables, and who generally buys them over night in this way. Then I turn round and come back. It is often eleven o'clock when I reach home and go to bed. Sometimes, again, according to the orders I have from town, Dobbin and I start—"

"Dobbin?" interrupted Bessie, "is Dobbin the horse, sir?"

The farmer nodded smilingly, and continued, "Dobbin and I start at five o'clock in the morning, and we go rattling into market, just in time to have the things hurriedly sorted and in their places, before the buyers begin to throng about the stalls. I stop there a while, but I get home before noon, and Dolly always has my dinner ready to rest me, while Dobbin eats his to rest him."

"I wish Dolly could go to our school," said Nelly, after a pause. "Miss Milly, our teacher, is so good to us all. She lives in this little house that we are passing."

The farmer looked round at the school-house, and Nelly thought she heard him sigh as he did so. "Dolly is a smart girl, and a nice girl," said he, gravely, "but I am afraid her mother and I can't give her much book larnin'. Wish I could: but times are hard and money scarce. Dolly knows how to read and write, and I guess she will have to be content. Her health isn't strong, either, and she couldn't stand study."

"Here we are, sir, this is our house," cried Nelly, as the wagon neared the farm-house gate. "I'm very much obliged to you for my lift."

The farmer handed down her basket of nuts, and told her she was quite welcome. Bessie called out good-by, and the farmer drove on again. A short distance brought them to Bessie's house. As she in her turn was getting down, Mr. Dart asked her if she had any objections to show him the water-cress field of which she had spoken. Bessie was delighted to do it, so Dobbin was tied to a tree, and the little girl led the way to the back of the house.

"Does the field belong to your mother?" asked the farmer.

"Yes, sir," said Bessie, "this house and the garden and the wet meadow where the watercresses grow, mother owns them all. She's sick now, as I told you, sir, and oftentimes she lies in her bed and cries to think we can't get on better in the world. I'd help her, if I could, but I don't know any thing to do."

It did not take long to reach the wet meadow, as Bessie called it. It lay only a stone's throw back of the house. It was called "wet," because a beautiful brook coursed through it, and moistened the ground so much as to render it unprofitable for cultivation. The watercresses had it all their own way. They grew wild over nearly the whole field, and extended down to the very edge of the brook, and leaned their beautiful bright leaves and graceful stems into the little stream, as it flowed over the pebbles.

Bessie led the farmer to a large, flat stone, where they could stand with dry feet and survey the scene. The sun was just setting; they could see the glow in the west through the grove of trees that skirted the outer edge of the field; the birds were just chirping their mournful October songs, as they flew about, seeking for a shelter for the coming night; the murmur of the brook added not a little to the serenity of the hour.

The farmer stooped, and reaching his hand among the wet earth where the cresses grew, plucked one, and tasted it.

"It is as fine as any I ever ate," said he, "and, as far as I see, your mother's meadow is full of just such ones. The frost and the cold winds have spoiled ours, but yours are protected by that hill back there, and are first-rate."

"Do you think we could get money for them?" cried Bessie, jumping up and down on the loose stone on which they stood, until it shook so as almost to make her lose her balance and fall into the water; "do you think people will buy them?"

"Certainly," said the farmer, giving his lips a final smack over the remnant of the cress, "certainly I do, and they are so clear from weeds it will be no trouble to gather them. What is your name, little girl?"

"Bessie, sir, and my mother's name is that too. Wouldn't you like to come in and see her for a moment, to tell her about the cresses?"

"Not to-day," said the farmer, shaking his head, and looking at the sinking sun; "it grows late, and I have a long journey to go, but I'll tell you what I will do. I go to market again the day after to-morrow, and I leave home at five o'clock in the morning, or thereabouts. Now, I'm sorry to hear of your mother's troubles, and I want to help her if I can. You tell her all I have said about the cresses bringing a good price, and see if she has any objections to your gathering a big basket full, and having it ready to send to market when I pass by. I can take one for you just as well as not, three or four times a week. Leave it just inside the gate, and I will get it, for it will be too early for you to be up."

"Yes, sir," said Bessie, her face perfectly radiant with smiles; "how good you are to take so much trouble—how good you are! I'll tell mother all about you, be sure of that."

"And now I must be off," said the farmer, stepping from the flat stone into the moist grass and picking his way as well as he could towards the house, and thence to the gate. Bessie followed him to the road, and watched him untie old Dobbin. The tears came in her eyes as she called out,