"It is as fine as any I ever ate," said he, "and, as far as I see, your mother's meadow is full of just such ones. The frost and the cold winds have spoiled ours, but yours are protected by that hill back there, and are first-rate."
"Do you think we could get money for them?" cried Bessie, jumping up and down on the loose stone on which they stood, until it shook so as almost to make her lose her balance and fall into the water; "do you think people will buy them?"
"Certainly," said the farmer, giving his lips a final smack over the remnant of the cress, "certainly I do, and they are so clear from weeds it will be no trouble to gather them. What is your name, little girl?"
"Bessie, sir, and my mother's name is that too. Wouldn't you like to come in and see her for a moment, to tell her about the cresses?"
"Not to-day," said the farmer, shaking his head, and looking at the sinking sun; "it grows late, and I have a long journey to go, but I'll tell you what I will do. I go to market again the day after to-morrow, and I leave home at five o'clock in the morning, or thereabouts. Now, I'm sorry to hear of your mother's troubles, and I want to help her if I can. You tell her all I have said about the cresses bringing a good price, and see if she has any objections to your gathering a big basket full, and having it ready to send to market when I pass by. I can take one for you just as well as not, three or four times a week. Leave it just inside the gate, and I will get it, for it will be too early for you to be up."
"Yes, sir," said Bessie, her face perfectly radiant with smiles; "how good you are to take so much trouble—how good you are! I'll tell mother all about you, be sure of that."
"And now I must be off," said the farmer, stepping from the flat stone into the moist grass and picking his way as well as he could towards the house, and thence to the gate. Bessie followed him to the road, and watched him untie old Dobbin. The tears came in her eyes as she called out,
"Good-by, sir, good-by."