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"Good-by, sir, good-by."

The farmer turned, half smiled to see how grateful the poor child looked, and said kindly,

"Good-by, Bessie."

CHAPTER III.
WATER-CRESSES.

Bessie's mother was both surprised and rejoiced to hear of the kindness of the farmer. It seemed to her a great stroke of good fortune. The little sum of money which she had saved in more prosperous days was almost exhausted, and it had been a bitter thought to her to know, that when this should be gone, they would have nothing. The little house in which they lived could be sold, it is true, but the widow had always looked upon it in the light of a home, and not as an article to be disposed of for support.

A ready consent was given that Bessie should try what she could do with the water-cresses. The little girl was delighted at the prospect, and already she saw herself the future possessor of a great deal of money.

Her mother wanted her to gather the cresses the night previous to the morning on which the farmer was expected, but in her enthusiasm, Bessie insisted that they would be far fresher and nicer when they reached market if she should do so at daybreak; and she promised faithfully to rise in sufficient time to accomplish the feat.

"But, my child," said her mother, "it will not be light enough for you to choose the best cresses, and the farmer may come before you get through, and of course we could not ask him to wait. No, gather them late in the afternoon, carefully select the poor ones, and the dead leaves and grasses that may be mingled with them, and the rest put in the oak pail and cover them with clean water. In the morning you can rise as early as you please, and fasten them up securely in the large basket, and be ready to give them to the farmer yourself, if you would like to do so when he passes."

Bessie acknowledged that this was wisest. Accordingly, towards the latter part of the day before the appointed morning, she provided herself with a basket and the garden scissors, to go down to the brook and begin her undertaking. Previous to doing so, however, she put her head in her mother's room and called out with a gay laugh, "good-by, mother, I am going to make a fortune for you yet, see if I don't!"

Her mother smiled, and when Bessie shut the door and jumped lightly down the stairs, two at a time, she felt as though her child's courage and hopefulness were really infusing courage and hopefulness into herself.

"She was clipping at the cresses, when she heard some one call her name."—p. 45.

Singing at the top of her lungs, Bessie set to work. Never had she felt as light-hearted and happy. She tucked up her calico dress a little way, into the strings of her apron, in order to keep it out of the wet, and drew off her shoes and stockings. Then arming herself with the scissors, she cut vigorously among the cresses; taking care, however, to choose only those that presented a fine appearance, for she was determined that the first specimens the farmer took with him, should be so fine as to attract the attention of the buyers, and thus induce them to come again. A shrewd little business woman was Bessie! She had her basket sitting on some stones near her, and when she moved further up and down the brook, she was careful always to move that also. She was singing away as loudly and heartily as she could, and clipping at the cresses, when she heard some one call her name. She looked up, and there stood a boy about fourteen years old, named Martin, who lived on Nelly's father's farm. He looked as though he wanted very much to laugh at the odd figure which Bessie cut; her sun-bonnet hanging by its strings to her neck, her dress tucked up to the knees, a pair of shears in one hand, an enormous basket in the other, and both of her bare feet in the brook.

"Why, Bessie," said Martin, "what a noise you have been making! I called you four or five times real loud, and I whistled too, and yet you went on singing 'Old folks at home,' and 'Little drops of water,' as though your ears were not made to hear any voice but your own!"

"That's 'cause I'm so happy," said Bessie. "Why, Martin, I'm beginning to earn my own living,—think of that. Isn't it fun though?" and she splashed through the stream to have a nearer talk with her visitor.

"Earning your living!" repeated Martin; "well, I should call playing in the brook, as you seemed to be just now, any thing but that."

"Playing!" echoed Bessie, with some indignation, "I am a big girl of nine now, and I am not going to play any more; I am going to work. Don't you see these cresses?"

"Yes," said Martin, "but they're not good for much, are they?"

"Good!" laughed Bessie, capering about, quite unmindful of bare ankles, "Good! I shouldn't wonder much if they were. Why, Martin Wray, I'm to sell 'em, and get money for 'em—plenty of it—till my pockets are so full that they cannot hold any more—there!"

"Money!" said Martin, "you don't mean to say people buy cresses? What can they do with them?"

"Eat 'em," replied Bessie, promptly; "mother says rich folks buy them to make into salads,—mustard, pepper, salt, vinegar, and all that sort of thing, you know. Mother says they are just in their prime now."

Martin stooped and helped himself to a handful of the cresses. He did not seem to like their flavor, but made wry faces over them.

"Dear, dear," he said, "how they bite! They will take my tongue off."

"That's the beauty of 'em," said Bessie, coolly, "that's a proof that they are good. Mother says when they grow flat and insipid they don't bring a fair price."

"But isn't this late in the year for them?" asked her visitor.

"No," was the answer; "this is just the best of the fall crop, and they will last for a month or six weeks, and maybe all winter, if the season is mild. May is the great spring month for them, and October the one in the autumn. Mother told me she brushed the snow away from a little patch last Christmas, and there they were just as fresh and green as ever."

"And who are you going to sell them to?" asked Martin.

"A farmer," answered Bessie, "who lives up in the nutting woods has promised to take them to market."

"Oh," said Martin, "that reminds me of what I came for. Nelly knew I had to pass by here to-day with a letter, and she asked me to inquire if you would go nutting with her and me to-morrow. She wants to stop for another little girl too, I believe."

"Dolly?" said Bessie.

"I don't know," replied Martin, "what her name was. She said it was a girl who had the fever and ague."

"That's Dolly!" cried Bessie, joyfully, "Dolly has it awful. Just wait here a minute while I run ask mother if she can spare me."

She went skipping in the house, and in a short time her bare feet were heard skipping out again.

"Yes," she cried, triumphantly waving her sun-bonnet, "mother told me 'yes.'"