Little Bessie, the Careless Girl, or, Squirrels, Nuts, and Water-Cresses

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  CHAPTER III.

  WATER-CRESSES.

  BESSIE'S mother was both surprised and rejoiced to hear of the kindnessof the farmer. It seemed to her a great stroke of good fortune. Thelittle sum of money which she had saved in more prosperous days wasalmost exhausted, and it had been a bitter thought to her to know, thatwhen this should be gone, they would have nothing. The little house inwhich they lived could be sold, it is true, but the widow had alwayslooked upon it in the light of a _home_, and not as an article to bedisposed of for support.

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

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

  "But, my child," said her mother, "it will not be light enough for youto choose the best cresses, and the farmer may come before you getthrough, and of course we could not ask him to wait. No, gather themlate in the afternoon, carefully select the poor ones, and the deadleaves and grasses that may be mingled with them, and the rest put inthe oak pail and cover them with clean water. In the morning you canrise as early as you please, and fasten them up securely in the largebasket, and be ready to give them to the farmer yourself, if you wouldlike to do so when he passes."

  Bessie acknowledged that this was wisest. Accordingly, towards thelatter part of the day before the appointed morning, she providedherself with a basket and the garden scissors, to go down to the brookand begin her undertaking. Previous to doing so, however, she put herhead 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 lightlydown the stairs, two at a time, she felt as though her child's courageand hopefulness were really infusing courage and hopefulness intoherself.

  "She was clipping at the cresses, when she heard someone call her name."--p. 45.]

  Singing at the top of her lungs, Bessie set to work. Never had she feltas light-hearted and happy. She tucked up her calico dress a littleway, 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 thescissors, she cut vigorously among the cresses; taking care, however,to choose only those that presented a fine appearance, for she wasdetermined that the first specimens the farmer took with him, should beso fine as to attract the attention of the buyers, and thus induce themto come again. A shrewd little business woman was Bessie! She had herbasket sitting on some stones near her, and when she moved furtherup and down the brook, she was careful always to move that also. Shewas singing away as loudly and heartily as she could, and clipping atthe cresses, when she heard some one call her name. She looked up, andthere stood a boy about fourteen years old, named Martin, who livedon Nelly's father's farm. He looked as though he wanted very much tolaugh at the odd figure which Bessie cut; her sun-bonnet hanging by itsstrings to her neck, her dress tucked up to the knees, a pair of shearsin one hand, an enormous basket in the other, and both of her bare feetin the brook.

  "Why, Bessie," said Martin, "what a noise you have been making! Icalled you four or five times _real loud_, and I whistled too, and yetyou 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'mbeginning to earn my own living,--think of _that_. Isn't it funthough?" and she splashed through the stream to have a nearer talk withher visitor.

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

  "Playing!" echoed Bessie, with some indignation, "I am a big girl ofnine 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 tosell 'em, and get _money_ for 'em--plenty of it--till my pockets are sofull that they cannot hold any more--there!"

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

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

  Martin stooped and helped himself to a handful of the cresses. He didnot 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 thatthey are good. Mother says when they grow flat and insipid they don'tbring 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 theywill last for a month or six weeks, and maybe all winter, if the seasonis mild. May is the great spring month for them, and October the onein the autumn. Mother told me she brushed the snow away from a littlepatch last Christmas, and there they were just as fresh and green asever."

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

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

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

  "Dolly?" said Bessie.

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

  "That's Dolly!" cried Bessie, joyfully, "Dolly has it _awful_. Justwait 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 wereheard 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 badehim good-by, and went back to her cresses. In a little while the basketwas filled with the very finest the brook afforded, and she carriedthem 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 roomwhere she and her mother slept, Bessie awoke suddenly, and before sheknew it she was sitting up in bed, drowsily rubbing her eyes. She hadborne so well on her mind the appointment with the farmer, that she hadawakened 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 threehours earlier than it was her habit to rise, yet she did not stop tothink of that, but bounded out and began her morning's ablution; hermother 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 creptnoiselessly as possible down the stairs that led to the kitchen, andthere carefully packed her cresses for market. When the basket wasfull, she wrapped hastily a shawl around her, to protect her from thechilly 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. Shestood on the cross bars of the gate, and looked eagerly up and down theroad, but she saw nothing as yet. The thought crossed her mind thatMr. Dart might already have passed the house, and finding no basketprepared 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 f
rom thesky, and the sun had not risen, nor the soft white morning mists yetrolled away from the mountains that lay to the left of the village, shewas quite sure that she was not too late. She went back to the opendoor sill of the kitchen, which, being built in a small wing, frontedon the road, and sat down quietly on the sill. Presently she thoughtshe heard the rattle of wheels, and the snapping of a whip. She ran tothe gate, and looked in the direction from which it was to be expectedthe farmer would come, and there he was, seated on top of a load ofturnips, trotting down the road as fast as old Dobbin could go, underthe circumstances. He saw Bessie, and shook his whip over his head as asort of salutation.

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

  "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 asmy Dolly, who got up and fixed breakfast before I started. What doesmother say about the water-cresses, eh?"

  "All right, sir," cried Bessie, joyfully, lugging into view thebasket, "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 youhaven't half big enough a basket. You must send more next time, forthe frost may come and nip them a little, before you sell enough to beworth your while. Haven't you ever heard of making hay while the sunshines, Bessie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Bessie stood with the shawl over her head to watch the wagon as itseemed to grow less and less in size, and finally was hid by a curveof the road. Then she pulled to the gate to keep out stray cows fromthe little garden which her mother prized so much, and reentered thekitchen.

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

  The top of every page in her spelling-book was decorated with a picturewhich illustrated whatever word stood at the head of the column. Thus,_chandelier_, _work-box_, _bedstead_, were each represented in a prettyengraving. I suppose this was done in order to excite the interestof the scholar. Bessie's thoughts to-day were so far away with herwater-cresses, however, that she could think of nothing else. At thehead of her column for the morning was the word _ladle_, and at itsside was the picture of a stout servant girl, ladling out a plate ofsoup from a tureen. The shape of the ladle so much resembled a skimmerwhich Bessie had often seen in use in her mother's kitchen, thatwith her thoughts following the farmer in his wagon, she spelled andpronounced in this wise:

  "L-a, skim, d-l-e, mer, _skimmer_!"

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

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

  Her mother could not but laugh, but she asked her if such inattentionwas kind to herself when she was so ill as scarcely to be able tospeak, much less to question over and over again a girl who did notcare 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 spellingproperly."

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

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

  These words filled Bessie with shame. She really loved her mother, andthere were few things she would not have done to please her. She didnot realize how simple thoughtlessness can pain and annoy those whom wewould not purposely wound.

  "Well, mother," said Bessie, casting down her eyes, "I _do_ wish I wasgood. Maybe I am not big enough yet, am I, mother?"

  Her mother smiled, saying, "You are plenty big enough, and plenty oldenough too."

  Bessie smiled too, and was happy to see that her mother was not asvexed with her as she thought. She went up to her and gave her alittle shy kiss on her cheek.

  "It is _such_ hard work to be good," she said, "and it does _so_ botherme to be thinkin' of it all the time. Wouldn't it be nice if we couldbe 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. Whileyou are young is the time to break yourself of bad habits and slothfulways. If you wait until you become a woman, they will have fastenedthemselves upon you so that you cannot shake them off."

  Just as Bessie's mother pronounced the last words, she heard a knockon one of the outer doors. Bessie heard it too, and ran down stairs toopen it. It was now nearly time to expect Mr. Dart, and her heart beatwith 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 thatof 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," hesaid, 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 it was thefarmer, and indeed when she flew to the door, there he stood, smilingat her in the porch. One of his hands was extended towards her, and inits 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 atthe same time, and if you like, you can have another lot for me. Here'syour 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 aword. Her first thought was to dash up stairs and tell her mother, hernext to run after the farmer and thank him. But he had already mountedinto his seat and Dobbin, very glad to know that his nose was turnedhomeward, had taken the hint to start off at a pace that soon placedhis driver out of hearing.

  "I am so sorry," said Bessie, gazing after the wagon in much the sameway as she had done in the
morning. "Mother will say I forgot mypoliteness _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 everything you want now! See, here's money, plenty of it! I don't believeI ever saw so much at once in all my life. How many goodies you shallhave to make you well!"

  Her mother was lying partially dressed outside the bed-quilts, but sherose up slowly to share Bessie's joy. Bessie put the money in her handsand danced around the room like a wild girl, utterly regardless of thefire-tongs that she whirled out of place, and a couple of chairs, whichshe 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 allthis 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 formother? How much is there, mother?"

  The widow spread out the three coins in her hand, and after a moment'spause, said,

  "Here are two twenty-five cent pieces, and a ten cent piece; that makesjust 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, cryingas peacefully as possible.

  "Why, my foolish little girl," said her mother, "I can't have any tearsshed 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' totill I did."

  "What are you thinking of doing with it all?" asked Nathan, eyeing themoney with some curiosity.

  "Save it," answered Bessie, promptly, "till mother gets ready to useit." She went to a table standing at the head of the bed, and from itsdrawer she took out a large-sized Madeira nut, that had been given toher by her uncle the previous Christmas. The two halves were joinedtogether by a steel hinge, and when a small spring was touched on theopposite side, they opened. Bessie touched it now, and advancing to hermother, said,

  "Let's keep the money in this nut, mother, for a purse, until you wantto spend it."

  Her mother dropped the silver in the open shell, and Bessie closed itand replaced it in the drawer. Then she and Nathan went down to get thesugar.