Martin now said he must go on and deliver his letter, and Bessie bade him good-by, and went back to her cresses. In a little while the basket was filled with the very finest the brook afforded, and she carried them in the house to place in water as her mother had directed.

The next morning, as the gray dawn came through the window of the room where she and her mother slept, Bessie awoke suddenly, and before she knew it she was sitting up in bed, drowsily rubbing her eyes. She had borne so well on her mind the appointment with the farmer, that she had awakened long before her usual time. She was a lazy girl generally, and liked very much to lie luxuriously in bed and think about getting up, without making an effort to do so. It was at least three hours earlier than it was her habit to rise, yet she did not stop to think of that, but bounded out and began her morning's ablution; her mother having always striven to impress upon her the great fact that "cleanliness is next to godliness." It was but a short time when, leaving her mother, as she thought, soundly sleeping, Bessie crept noiselessly as possible down the stairs that led to the kitchen, and there carefully packed her cresses for market. When the basket was full, she wrapped hastily a shawl around her, to protect her from the chilly autumn air of the morning, and ran out to the gate to place it, ready for the farmer, when he should come along in his wagon. She stood on the cross bars of the gate, and looked eagerly up and down the road, but she saw nothing as yet. The thought crossed her mind that Mr. Dart might already have passed the house, and finding no basket prepared for him, had driven on without it. But when she looked around, and saw how early it still appeared, how the gray was not gone from the sky, and the sun had not risen, nor the soft white morning mists yet rolled away from the mountains that lay to the left of the village, she was quite sure that she was not too late. She went back to the open door sill of the kitchen, which, being built in a small wing, fronted on the road, and sat down quietly on the sill. Presently she thought she heard the rattle of wheels, and the snapping of a whip. She ran to the gate, and looked in the direction from which it was to be expected the farmer would come, and there he was, seated on top of a load of turnips, trotting down the road as fast as old Dobbin could go, under the circumstances. He saw Bessie, and shook his whip over his head as a sort of salutation.

"Good morning," said Bessie, as soon as he was near enough to hear her voice.

"Good morning," replied the farmer, holding Dobbin up, so as to stop. "Well now, this looks something like! I guess you're most as smart as my Dolly, who got up and fixed breakfast before I started. What does mother say about the water-cresses, eh?"

"All right, sir," cried Bessie, joyfully, lugging into view the basket, "and here they are, sir, all ready,—beauties, every one of 'em."

The farmer raised the cover, looked in, and whistled.

"Yes," said he, "this is the pick of the whole lot, I guess. But you haven't half big enough a basket. You must send more next time, for the frost may come and nip them a little, before you sell enough to be worth your while. Haven't you ever heard of making hay while the sun shines, Bessie?"

He took the basket and packed it nicely among the turnips, so that it would not jostle out with the movement of the wagon. As he did so, Bessie's mother, with a shawl hastily thrown around her, opened the window of her bedroom, and said sufficiently loud to be heard,

"Good morning, sir; I am afraid you are putting yourself to a great deal of trouble for us."

"Not at all, ma'am," said the farmer, quite surprised at her sudden apparition, and taking off his hat as he spoke; "on the contrary, it's quite a pleasure."

"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure," said the widow, "and Bessie is too. It is very kind of you to help us, poor people as we are, along in the world."

"Well, ma'am," said the farmer with a smile, "as far as that goes, I'm poor myself—poor enough, dear knows, and that's the very thing that sometimes makes me feel for other poor folks, particularly poor sick folks, for we 'most always have a spell of the nager at our house. But I must be off. I'll stop, ma'am, as I come back, about noon, to tell you what luck I have had with these ere cresses."

He was just going to drive on when Bessie said, "Oh, sir, I almost forgot. Is to-day Dolly's well day? Nelly and I thought of going nutting with her."

"Yes," replied the farmer, "Doll is pretty smart to-day. Make no doubt she can go. Good morning, ma'am, good morning, Bessie;" and he touched up old Dobbin and trotted down the hill.

Bessie stood with the shawl over her head to watch the wagon as it seemed to grow less and less in size, and finally was hid by a curve of the road. Then she pulled to the gate to keep out stray cows from the little garden which her mother prized so much, and reëntered the kitchen.

She had a great many things to accomplish during the morning, because now that her mother was sick a number of household duties devolved upon her, with which she had nothing to do under ordinary circumstances. But, keep herself as busy as she could, the time still hung heavily. It seemed to her as if noon would never come. Her mother tried to hear her say her lessons in the intervals, when she had to sit up, but Bessie could not attend enough to repeat them well. She made many strange mistakes.

The top of every page in her spelling-book was decorated with a picture which illustrated whatever word stood at the head of the column. Thus, chandelier, work-box, bedstead, were each represented in a pretty engraving. I suppose this was done in order to excite the interest of the scholar. Bessie's thoughts to-day were so far away with her water-cresses, however, that she could think of nothing else. At the head of her column for the morning was the word ladle, and at its side was the picture of a stout servant girl, ladling out a plate of soup from a tureen. The shape of the ladle so much resembled a skimmer which Bessie had often seen in use in her mother's kitchen, that with her thoughts following the farmer in his wagon, she spelled and pronounced in this wise:

"L-a, skim, d-l-e, mer, skimmer!"

"My patience," said her mother, "what nonsense is that, Bessie, which you are saying?"

"L-a, skim, d-l-e, mer, skimmer," gravely repeated Bessie, quite unconscious of the droll mistake.

Her mother could not but laugh, but she asked her if such inattention was kind to herself when she was so ill as scarcely to be able to speak, much less to question over and over again a girl who did not care whether she learned or not.

"But I do care, mother," cried Bessie, coloring.

"Then why do you try me so? Take your book and study your spelling properly."

Bessie did so, and this time, mastering her inclination to think of other things, soon accomplished her task.

"It is not because you are a dull child," said her mother, "that you do not learn, but because you are a careless one. The least thing comes between you and your lessons. This morning, I suppose you are somewhat to be excused, but I cannot express to you how you weary me, day after day, by the same conduct."

These words filled Bessie with shame.