Bessie always liked to go to the country.  Her home was in the city, where she had only a small yard, not much larger than her grandmother’s capacious kitchen, to play in, and that was surrounded by a high, close fence, so that she could see only the tiny patch of grass beneath and the beautiful blue sky above.

Children in the country do not know how to prize their freedom.  If they could be penned up in the city for a few months, as Bessie was for the greater part of the year, they would learn to appreciate it, and they would look upon every tree and every blade of grass as a friend.  The chirping of the crickets, the singing of the frogs, and the warbling of the birds would be thrice welcome music to them.  No wonder Bessie was so happy when she thought of the wide lawn studded with trees, the orchard rich in apples and pears, the hills down which she and her sisters could run, and up whose steep sides they must scramble when the horn sounds for dinner.  The country is rich in its treasures of happiness, and they are bestowed freely and profusely upon every one “who in the love of nature holds communion with her visible forms.”

It was in the gray twilight of the morning that the steamboat arrived at the wharf.  When they went home, Bessie was awakened, and was soon ready, with her travelling-bag on her arm, to leave the boat.  Her aunt took her by the hand, to lead her across the gangway.  They had but just stepped upon it, when she started forward to reach her uncle, who, with an infant in his arms, had just preceded her.  Her aunt called to her to stop.  She paid no attention, but passed rapidly on.  A car, laden with baggage, was drawn across the gangway.  It frightened her.  She stepped quickly aside, and fell into the water.

Oh! the agony of that moment!  Her uncle and aunt could not aid her.  He besought the people near him to take the infant from his arms, that he might leap into the water to attempt the rescue of the child; but they would not do it.  They held him back, that he might not expose himself to the danger of immediate death; for he could not swim, and of course he could not render the assistance which was needed.  He and her aunt were both obliged to stand and look on, in unutterable anguish, while strangers attempted to save her.

Bessie fell in such a way that she did not sink under the water.  Her clothes spread out, and buoyed her up like a life-preserver.  A man let himself down as soon as possible; but the rope was not long enough for him to reach Bessie.  He could only touch her with his foot.  She took hold of it, and he slowly raised her till he grasped her bonnet.  In this way they were both pulled up, and Bessie once more stood by the side of her aunt.  How freely they all breathed once more, when the terrible suspense was ended, and she was safe!

Bessie seemed scarcely aware of the danger she had been in.  She had been perfectly calm, and did not lose her presence of mind; and it was owing to this, probably, that she was so easily rescued.  She tried to save her travelling-bag, but, as she told her aunt, she could not hold it any longer than she did.