Thistle and Rose - Amy Walton (beginner reading books for adults .txt) 📗

Oswald; "she's fretted a bit standing at the station. Don't ye be nervous, missie; there's not a morsel of harm in her."

Nevertheless, Anna felt obliged to grasp the side of the cart tightly as Molly turned into the principal street of Dornton, which was wide, and, fortunately, nearly empty. What a quiet, dull-looking street it was, after the noisy rattle of London, and how low and small the shops and houses looked! If only Molly would go a little slower!

"Yonder's the church," said Mr Oswald, pointing up a steep side-street with his whip; "and yonder's the river," waving it in the opposite direction.

Anna turned her head quickly, and caught a hurried glimpse of a grey tower on one side, and a thin white streak in the distant, low-lying meadows on the other.

"And here's the new bank," continued Mr Oswald, with some pride, as they passed a tall, red brick building which seemed to stare the other houses out of countenance; "and the house inside the double white gates is Dr Hunt's."

"I suppose you know Dornton very well?" Anna said as he paused.

"Been here, man and boy, a matter of forty years--leastways, in the neighbourhood," replied the farmer.

"Then you know where Mr Goodwin lives, I suppose?" said Anna.

"Which of 'em?" said the farmer. "There's Mr Goodwin, the baker; and Mr Goodwin, the organist at Saint Mary's."

"Oh, the organist," said Anna.

"To be sure I do. He lives in Number 4 Back Row. You can't see it from here; it's an ancient part of Dornton, in between High Street and Market Street. He's been here a sight of years--every one knows Mr Goodwin-- he's as well known as the parish church is."

Anna felt pleased to hear that. It convinced her that her grandfather must be an important person, although Back Row did not sound a very important place.

"How fast your horse goes," she said, by way of continuing the conversation, for, after her long silence in the train, it was quite pleasant to talk to somebody.

"Ah, steps out, doesn't she?" said the farmer, with a gratified chuckle. "You won't beat her for pace _this_ side of the county. She was bred at Leas Farm, and she's a credit to it."

They were now clear of the town, and had turned off the dusty high-road into a lane, with high hedges on either side.

"Oh, how pretty!" cried Anna.

She could see over these hedges, across the straggling wreaths of dog-roses and clematis, to the meadows on either hand, where the tall grass, sprinkled with silvery ox-eyed daisies, stood ready for hay. Beyond these again came the deep brown of some ploughed land, and now and then bits of upland pasture, with cows and sheep feeding. The river Dorn, which Mr Oswald had pointed out from the town, wound its zigzag course along the valley, which they were now leaving behind them. As they mounted a steep hill, Molly had considerably slackened her speed, so that Anna could look about at her ease and observe all this.

"What a beautiful place this is!" she exclaimed with delight.

"Well enough," said the farmer; "nice open country. Yonder pasture, where the cows are, belongs to me; if you're stopping at Waverley, missie, I can show you a goodish lot of cows at Leas Farm."

"Oh, I should love to see them!" said Anna.

"My little daughter 'll be proud to show 'em yer; she's just twelve years old, Daisy is. Now, you wouldn't guess what I gave her as a birthday present?"

"No," said Anna; "I can't guess at all."

"'Twas as pretty a calf as you ever saw, with a white star on its forehead. Nothing would do after that but I must buy her a collar for it. `Puppa,' she says, `when you go into Dornton, you must get me a collar and a bell, like there is in my picture-book.' My word!" said the farmer, slapping his knee, "how all the beasts carried on when they first heard that bell in the farmyard! You never saw such antics! It was like as if they were clean mad!"

He threw back his head and gave a jolly laugh at the bare recollection; it was so hearty and full of enjoyment, that Anna felt obliged to laugh a little too.

"Here you are, my lass," he said, touching Molly lightly with the whip as they reached the top of the hill. "All level ground now between here and Waverley.--Now, what are you shying at?" as Molly swerved away from a stile in the hedge.

It was at an old man who was climbing slowly over it into the steep lane. He wore shabby, black clothes: his shoulders were bent, and his grey hair rather long; in his hand he carried a violin-case.

"That's the Mr Goodwin you were asking after, missie," said the farmer, touching his hat with his whip, as they passed quickly by. "Looks tired, poor old gentleman; hot day for a long walk."

Anna started and looked eagerly back, but Molly's long stride had already placed a good distance between herself and the figure which was descending the hill. That her grandfather! Was it possible? He looked so poor, so dusty, so old, such a contrast to the merry June evening, as he tramped wearily down the flowery lane, a little bent to one side by the weight of his violin-case. Not an important or remarkable person, such as she had pictured to herself, but a tired old man, of whom the farmer spoke in a tone of pity. Her father had done so too, she remembered. Did every one pity her grandfather? There was all the more need, certainly, that she should help and cheer him, yet Anna felt vaguely disappointed, she hardly knew why.

These thoughts chased away her smiles completely, and such a grave expression took their place that the farmer noticed the change.

"Tired, missie, eh?" he inquired. "Well, we're there now, so to speak. Yonder's the spire of Waverley church, and the Vicarage is close against it--steady then, lass," as Molly objected to turning in at a white gate.

"It's a terrible business is travelling by rail," he continued, "to take the spirit out of you; I'd sooner myself ride on horseback for a whole day, than sit in a train half a one."

A long, narrow road, with iron railings on either side, dividing it from broad meadows, brought them to another gate, which the farmer got down to open, and then led Molly up to the porch of the Vicarage.

A boy running out from the stable-yard close by stood at the horse's head while Mr Oswald carefully helped Anna down from her high seat, took out her trunks from the back of the cart, and rang the bell. Again the question of payment troubled her, but he did not leave her long to consider it.

"Well, you're landed now, missie," he said with his good-natured smile, as he took the reins and turned the impatient Molly towards the gate; "so I'll say good-day to you, and my respects to Mr and Mrs Forrest."

Molly seemed to Anna to make but one bound from the door to the gate, and to carry the cart and the farmer out of sight, while she was still murmuring her thanks.

She turned to the maid-servant, who had opened the door and was gazing at her and her boxes with some surprise.

"Yes, miss," she said, in answer to Anna's inquiry; "Mrs Forrest is at home; she's in the garden, if you'll please to come this way; we didn't expect you till to-morrow."

Through the door opposite, Anna could see a lawn, a tea-table under a large tree, a gentleman in a wicker chair, and a lady, in a broad-brimmed hat, sauntering about with a watering-pot in her hand. When she saw Anna following the maid, the lady dropped her watering-pot, and stood rooted to the ground in an attitude of intense surprise.

"Why, Anna!" she exclaimed.

"Didn't you expect me, Aunt Sarah?" said Anna. "Father said you would meet me to-day."

"Now," said Mrs Forrest, turning round to her husband in the wicker chair, "isn't that exactly like your brother Bernard?"

"Well, in the meantime, here is Anna, safe and sound," he replied; "so there's no harm done.--Come and sit down in the shade, my dear; you've had a hot journey."

"Where's your luggage?" continued Mrs Forrest, as she kissed her niece. "Did you walk up from the station, and leave it there?"

"Oh no, aunt; I didn't know the way," said Anna.

She began to feel afraid she had done quite the wrong thing in coming with Mr Oswald.

"Oh, you had to take a fly," said Mrs Forrest. "It's a most provoking thing altogether."

"It doesn't really matter much, my dear, does it?" said Mr Forrest, as he placed a chair for his niece. "She's managed to get here without any accident, although you did not meet her.--Suppose you give us some tea."

"I took the trouble to make a note of the train and day," continued Mrs Forrest, "and I repeated them twice to Bernard, so that there should be no mistake."

"Well, you couldn't have done more," said Mr Forrest, soothingly. "Bernard always was a forgetful fellow, you know."

"Such a very unsuitable thing for the child to arrive quite alone at the station, and no one to meet her there! And I had made all my arrangements for to-morrow so carefully."

As Anna drank her tea, she listened to all this, and intended every moment to mention that Mr Oswald had driven her from the station, but she was held back by a mixture of shyness and fear of what her aunt would say; perhaps she had done something very silly, and what Mrs Forrest would call unsuitable! At any rate, it was easier just now to leave her under the impression that she had taken a fly; but, of course, directly she got a chance, she would tell her all about it. For some time, however, Mrs Forrest continued to lament that her arrangements had not been properly carried out, and when the conversation did change, Anna had a great many questions to answer about her father and his intended journey. Then a message was brought out to her uncle, over which he and Mrs Forrest bent in grave consultation. She had now leisure to look about her. How pretty it all was! The long, low front of the Vicarage stood facing her, with the smooth green lawn between them, and up the supports of the veranda there were masses of climbing plants in full bloom. The old part of the house had a very deep, red-tiled roof, with little windows poking out of it here and there, and the wing which the present Vicar had built stood at right angles to it. Anna thought her father was right in not admiring the new bit as much as the old, but, nevertheless, with the evening light resting on it, it all looked very pretty and peaceful just now.

"And how do you like the look of Waverley, Anna?" asked Mrs Forrest.

Anna could answer with great sincerity that she thought it was a lovely place, and she said it so heartily that her aunt was