Part 4 (1/2)
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 pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s, 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 la.s.s,” 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 pa.s.sed 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.