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[42] 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,[43] 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[44] the stairs, two at a time, she felt as though her child's courage and hopefulness were really infusing courage and hopefulness into herself.
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[45] 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[46] '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[49] 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.'"
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[51] 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[52] 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[53] 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,[54] 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,[56] 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[58] 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[60] 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. She really loved her mother, and there were few things she would not have done to please her. She did not realize how simple thoughtlessness can pain and annoy those whom we would not purposely wound.
"Well, mother," said Bessie, casting down her eyes, "I do wish I was good. Maybe I am not big enough yet, am I, mother?"
Her mother smiled, saying, "You are plenty big enough, and plenty old enough too."
Bessie smiled too, and was happy to see that her mother was not as vexed[61] with her as she thought. She went up to her and gave her a little shy kiss on her cheek.
"It is such hard work to be good," she said, "and it does so bother me to be thinkin' of it all the time. Wouldn't it be nice if we could be good without any trouble? When I am grown up I hope I'll be good, anyway."
"Oh Bessie," said her mother, seriously, "do not wait till then. While you are young is the time to break yourself of bad habits and slothful ways. If you wait until you become a woman, they will have fastened themselves upon you so that you cannot shake them off."
Just as Bessie's mother pronounced the last words, she heard a knock on one of the outer doors. Bessie heard it too, and ran down stairs to open it.[62] It was now nearly time to expect Mr. Dart, and her heart beat with delight at the anticipation of the news she was so soon to hear.
She opened the door, and saw, not the kind face of the farmer, but that of a small, ungainly boy, who lived in the next house. He was a sickly, spoiled child, and Bessie, never liking him much at the best of times, found him now rather an unwelcome visitor.
"Our folks wants to know if your mother'll lend us some sugar," he said, at the same time handing out a cracked tea-cup.
Bessie took the cup and invited the boy to go up and see her mother, while she brought the sugar. She had just filled the cup even full, when again she heard a knock. This time she felt sure[63] it was the farmer, and indeed when she flew to the door, there he stood, smiling at her in the porch. One of his hands was extended towards her, and in its palm she saw three bright silver coins!
"Take them, Bessie," he said, "they are your own. Them cresses o' your'n were the best in market. I'm coming along to-morrow morning at the same time, and if you like, you can have another lot for me. Here's your basket, but it isn't half big enough, as I told you before."
Bessie stood holding the money in her hands, quite unable to utter a word. Her first thought was to dash up stairs and tell her mother, her next to run after the farmer and thank him. But he had already mounted into his seat and Dobbin, very glad to know that his nose[64] was turned homeward, had taken the hint to start off at a pace that soon placed his driver out of hearing.
"I am so sorry," said Bessie, gazing after the wagon in much the same way as she had done in the morning. "Mother will say I forgot my politeness that time. And he so kind too!"
She ran in the house again, and in a moment was in her mother's room.
"Mother, mother," she cried, holding out the coins, "you can have every thing you want now! See, here's money, plenty of it! I don't believe I ever saw so much at once in all my life. How many goodies you shall have to make you well!"
Her mother was lying partially dressed outside the bed-quilts, but she rose up slowly to share Bessie's joy. Bessie put the money in her hands and danced[65] around the room like a wild girl, utterly regardless of the fire-tongs that she whirled out of place, and a couple of chairs, which she laid very neatly flat on their sides in the middle of the floor. Then she flew at her mother and gave her two monstrous, sounding kisses on each cheek. Her mother gave them right straight back to her, and I can assure you Bessie wasn't at all sorry to have them returned.
"Why, Bessie," said the little boy, who had been a silent spectator all this time, "what is the matter with you? You act real crazy."
"I am crazy," said Bessie, good-humoredly, "just as crazy as can be. This is my water-cress money. Didn't you know I can earn money for mother? How much is there, mother?"
The widow spread out the three coins in her hand, and after a moment's pause, said,
"Here are two twenty-five cent pieces, and a ten cent piece; that makes just sixty cents."
Bessie sat perfectly still, and when her mother looked at her, attracted by an unusual sound, she had her apron up to her eyes, crying as peacefully as possible.
"Why, my foolish little girl," said her mother, "I can't have any tears shed in this way. Jump up like a good child and get Nathan his sugar."
"I couldn't help it," sobbed Bessie, "I didn't know I was agoin' to till I did."
"What are you thinking of doing with it all?" asked Nathan, eyeing the money with some curiosity.
"Save it," answered Bessie, promptly, "till mother gets ready to use it." She went to a table standing at the head of the bed, and from its drawer she took out a large-sized Madeira nut, that had been given to her by her uncle the previous Christmas. The two halves were joined together by a steel hinge, and when a small spring was touched on the opposite side, they opened. Bessie touched it now, and advancing to her mother, said,
"Let's keep the money in this nut, mother, for a purse, until you want to spend it."
Her mother dropped the silver in the open shell, and Bessie closed it and replaced it in the drawer. Then she and Nathan went down to get the sugar.
How would you like to enjoy this episode?
टिप्पणी करने के लिए लॉगिन करें
लॉगिन करें