"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.