Thistle and RoseA Story for Girls

By Amy Walton________________________________________________________________________A gently moving story for girls. Anna is aged fifteen, and her fatherneeds to go abroad on business for a while. Her mother had died beforeAnna could remember. Anna is to go to Dornton to stay while her fatheris away, and she is looking forward to meeting her relatives, includingher grandfather, who had been estranged from her father for many years. 

The grandfather is living quietly in a small house "with no servants"and has a job as organist in Dornton church. He is well-known as anexcellent teacher of music, especially the violin. 

The story goes on from there. The book is not a long one, and theaudiobook takes a little over four hours. NH________________________________________________________________________

THISTLE AND ROSEA STORY FOR GIRLS

BY AMY WALTON

CHAPTER ONE. 

THE PICTURE. 

 A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet. 

 Wordsworth. 

"And so, my dear Anna, you really leave London to-morrow!"

"By the ten o'clock train, " added an eager voice, "and I shan't get toDornton until nearly five. Father will go with me to Paddington, andthen I shall be alone all the way. My very first journey by myself--andsuch a long one!"

"You don't seem to mind the idea, " said the governess, with a glance ather pupil's bright, smiling face. "You don't mind leaving all thepeople and things you have been used to all your life?"

Anna tried to look grave. "I see so little of father, you know, " shesaid, "and I'm sure I shall like the country better than London. Ishall miss _you_, of course, dear Miss Milverton, " she added quickly, bending forward to kiss her governess. 

Miss Milverton gave a little shake of the head, as she returned thekiss; perhaps she did not believe in being very much missed. 

"You are going to new scenes and new people, " she said, "and at yourage, Anna, it is easier to forget than to remember. I should like tothink, though, that some of our talks and lessons during the last sevenyears might stay in your mind. "

She spoke wistfully, and her face looked rather sad. As she saw it, Anna felt ungrateful to be so glad to go away, and was ready to promiseanything. "Oh, of course they will, " she exclaimed. "Indeed, I willnever forget what you have told me. I couldn't. "

"You have lived so very quietly hitherto, " continued Miss Milverton, "that it will be a new thing for you to be thrown with other people. They will be nearly all strangers to you at Waverley, I think?"

"There will be Aunt Sarah and Uncle John at the Rectory, " said Anna. "Aunt Sarah, of course, I know; but I've never seen Uncle John. He'sfather's brother, you know. Then there's Dornton; that's just a littletown near. I don't know any one there, but I suppose Aunt Sarah does. Waverley's quite in the country, with a lovely garden--oh, I do so longto see it!"

"You will make friends, too, of your own age, I daresay, " said MissMilverton. 

"Oh, I hope so, " said Anna earnestly. "It has been so dull heresometimes! After you go away in the afternoon there's nothing to do, and when father dines out there's no one to talk to all the evening. You can't think how tired I get of reading. "

"Well, it will be more cheerful and amusing for you at Waverley, nodoubt, " said Miss Milverton, "and I hope you will be very happy there;but what I want to say to you is this: Try, whether you are at Waverleyor wherever you are, to value the best things in yourself and others. "

Anna's bright eyes were gazing over the blind into the street, where aman with a basket of flowers on his head was crying, "All a-blowing anda-growing. " In the country she would be able to pick flowers instead ofbuying them. She smiled at the thought, and said absently, "Yes, MissMilverton. " Miss Milverton's voice, which always had a regretful soundin it, went steadily on, while Anna's bright fancies danced about gaily. 

"It is so easy to value the wrong things most. They often look soattractive, and the best things lie so deeply hidden from us. And yet, to find them out and treasure them, and be true to them, makes thedifference between a worthy and an unworthy life. If you look for them, my dear Anna, you will find them. My last wish before we part is, thatyou may be quick to see, and ready to do them honour, and to prize themas they should be prized. Bless you, my dear!"

Miss Milverton had felt what she said so deeply, that the tears stood inher eyes, as she finished her speech and kissed her pupil for the lasttime. 

Anna returned the kiss affectionately, and as she followed her governessout into the hall and opened the door for her, she was quite sorry tothink that she had so often been tiresome at her lessons. Perhaps shehad helped to make Miss Milverton's face so grave and her voice so sad. Now she should not see her any more, and there was no chance of doingbetter. 

For full five minutes after she had waved a last good-bye, Anna remainedin a sober mood, looking thoughtfully at all the familiar, dingy objectsin the schoolroom, where she and Miss Milverton had passed so manyhours. It was not a cheerful room. Carpet, curtains, paper, everythingin it had become of one brownish-yellow hue, as though the London foghad been shut up in it, and never escaped again. Even the large globes, which stood one on each side of the fireplace, had the prevailing tingeover their polished, cracked surfaces; but as Anna's eye fell on these, her heart gave a sudden bound of joy. She would never have to doproblems again! She would never have to pass any more dull hours inthis room, with Miss Milverton's grave face opposite to her, and themerest glimpses of sunshine peering in now and then over the brownblinds. No more sober walks in Kensington Gardens, where she had sooften envied the ragged children, who could play about, and laugh, andrun, and do as they liked. There would be freedom now, green fields, flowers, companions perhaps of her own age. Everything new, everythinggay and bright, no more dullness, no more tedious days--after all, shewas glad, very glad!

It was so pleasant to think of, that she could not help dancing roundand round the big table all alone, snapping her fingers at the globes asshe passed them. When she was tired, she flung herself into MissMilverton's brown leather chair, and looked up at the clock, which hadgone soberly on its way as though nothing were to be changed in Anna'slife. She felt provoked with its placid face. "To-morrow at thistime, " she said to it, half aloud, "I shan't be here, and Miss Milvertonwon't be here, and I shall be seeing new places and new people, and--oh, I do wonder what it will all be like!"

The clock ticked steadily on, regardless of anything but its ownbusiness. Half-past six! Miss Milverton had stayed longer than usual. Anna began to wonder what time her father would be home. They were todine together on this, their last evening, but Mr Forrest was soabsorbed in his preparations for leaving England that he was likely tobe very late. Perhaps he would not be in till eight o'clock, and eventhen would have his mind too full of business to talk much at dinner, and would spend the evening in writing letters. Anna sighed. Therewere some questions she very much wanted to ask him, and this would beher only chance. To-morrow she was to go to Waverley, and the next dayMr Forrest started for America, and she would not see him again for twowhole years. 

It was strange to think of, but not altogether sad from Anna's point ofview, for her father was almost a stranger to her. He lived a lifeapart, into which she had never entered: his friends, his business, hisfrequent journeys abroad, occupied him fully, and he was quite contentthat Anna's welfare should be left in the hands of Miss Milverton, herdaily governess. It was Aunt Sarah who recommended Miss Milverton tothe post, which she had now filled, with ceaseless kindness anddevotion, for seven years. "You will find her invaluable, " Mrs Forresthad said to her brother-in-law, and so she was. When Anna was ill, shenursed her; when she wanted change of air, she took her to the sea-side;she looked after her both in body and mind, with the utmostconscientiousness. But there was one thing she could not do: she couldnot be an amusing companion for a girl of fifteen, and Anna had oftenbeen lonely and dull. 

Now that was all over. A sudden change had come into her life. TheLondon house was to be given up, her father was going away, and she wasto be committed to Aunt Sarah's instruction and care for two wholeyears. Waverley and Aunt Sarah, instead of London and Miss Milverton!It was a change indeed, in more than one way, for although Anna wasnearly fifteen, she had never yet stayed in the country; her ideas of itwere gathered from books, and from what she could see from a railwaycarriage, as Miss Milverton and she were carried swiftly on their way tothe sea-side for their annual change of air. She thought of it all now, as she sat musing in the old brown chair. 

It had often seemed strange that Aunt Sarah, who arranged everything, and to whom appeal was always made in matters which concerned Anna, should never have asked her to stay at Waverley before. Certainly therewere no children at the Rectory, but still it would have been natural, she thought, for was not Uncle John her father's own brother, and shehad never even seen him!

Aunt Sarah came to London occasionally and stayed the night, and hadlong talks with Mr Forrest and Miss Milverton, but she had never hintedat a visit from Anna. 

When, a little later, her father came bustling in, with a preoccupiedpucker on his brow, and his most absent manner, she almost gave up allidea of asking questions. Dinner passed in perfect silence, and she wasstartled when Mr Forrest suddenly mentioned the very place that was inher mind. 

"Well, Anna, " he said, "I've been to Waverley to-day. "

"Oh, father, have you?" she answered eagerly. 

Mr Forrest sipped his wine reflectively. 

"How old are you?" he asked. 

"Fifteen next August, " replied Anna. 

"Then, " he continued, half to himself, "it must be over sixteen yearssince I saw Waverley and Dornton. "

"Are they just the same?" asked his daughter; "are they pretty places?"

"Waverley's pretty enough. Your Uncle John has built another room, andspoilt the look of the old house, but that's the only change I can see. "

"And Dornton, " said Anna, "what is that like?"

"Dornton, " said Mr Forrest absently--"Dornton is the same dull littlehole of a town I remember it then. "

"Oh, " said Anna in a disappointed voice. 

"There's a fine old church, though, and the river's nice enough. I usedto know every turn in that river. --Well, " rising abruptly and leaninghis arm against the mantel-piece, "it's a long while ago--a long whileago--it's like another life. "

"Used you to stay often at Waverley?" Anna ventured to ask presently. 

Mr Forrest had fallen into a day-dream, with his eyes fixed on theground. He looked up when Anna spoke as though he had forgotten herpresence. 

"It was there I first met your mother, " he said, "or rather, at Dornton. We were married in Dornton church. "

"Oh, " said Anna, very much interested, "did mother live at Dornton? Inever knew that. "

"And that reminds me, " said Mr Forrest, taking a leather case out ofhis pocket, and speaking with an effort, "I've something I want to giveyou before you go away. You may as well have it now. To-morrow weshall be both in a hurry. Come here. "

He opened the case and showed her a small round portrait painted onivory. It was the head of a girl of eighteen, exquisitely fair, withsweet, modest-looking eyes. "Your mother, " he said briefly. 

Anna almost held her breath. She had never seen a picture of her motherbefore, and had very seldom heard her mentioned. 

"How lovely!" she exclaimed. "May I really have it to keep?"

"I had it copied for you from the original, " said Mr Forrest. 

"Oh, father, thank you so much, " said Anna earnestly. "I do so love tohave it. "

Mr Forrest turned away suddenly, and walked to the window. He wassilent for some minutes, and Anna stood with the case in her hand, notdaring to speak to him. She had an instinct that it was a painfulsubject. 

"Well, " he said at last, "I need not tell you to take care of it. WhenI come back you'll be nearly as old as she was when that was painted. Ican't hope more than that you may be half as good and beautiful. "

Anna gazed earnestly at the portrait. There were some words in tinyletters beneath it: "Priscilla Goodwin, " she read, "aged eighteen. "

Priscilla! A soft, gentle sort of name, which seemed to suit the face. 

If father wanted me to look like this, she thought to herself, heshouldn't have called me "Anna. " How could any one named Anna grow sopretty!

"Why was I named Anna?" she asked. 

"It was your mother's wish, " replied Mr Forrest. "I believe it was hermother's name. "

"Is my grandmother alive?" said Anna. 

"No; she died years before I ever saw your mother. Your grandfather, old Mr Goodwin, is living still--at Dornton. "

"At Dornton!" exclaimed Anna in extreme surprise. "Then why don't I goto stay with him while you're away, instead of at Waverley?"

"Because, " said Mr Forrest, turning from the window to face hisdaughter, "it has been otherwise arranged. "

Anna knew that tone of her father's well; it meant that she had asked anundesirable question. She was silent, but her eager face showed thatshe longed to hear more. 

"Your grandfather and I have not been very good friends, " said MrForrest at length, "and have not met for a good many years--but you'retoo young to understand all that. He lives in a very quiet sort of way. Once, if he had chosen, he might have risen to a different position. But he didn't choose, and he remains what he has been for the lasttwenty years--organist of Dornton church. He has great musical talent, I've always been told, but I'm no judge of that. "

These new things were quite confusing to Anna; it was difficult torealise them all at once. The beautiful, fair-haired mother, whosepicture she held in her hand, was not so strange. But her grandfather!She had never even heard of his existence, and now she would very soonsee him and talk to him. Her thoughts, hitherto occupied with Waverleyand the Rectory, began to busy themselves with the town of Dornton, thechurch where her mother had been married, and the house where she hadlived. 

"Aunt Sarah knows my grandfather, of course, " she said aloud. "He willcome to Waverley, and I shall go sometimes to see him at Dornton?"

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt, your aunt will arrange all that, " said MrForrest wearily. "And now you must leave me, Anna; I've no time toanswer any more questions. Tell Mary to take a lamp into the study, andbring me coffee. I have heaps of letters to write, and people to seethis evening. "

"Your aunt will arrange all that!" What a familiar sentence that was. Anna had heard it so often that she had come to look upon Aunt Sarah asa person whose whole office in life was to arrange and settle theaffairs of other people, and who was sure to do it in the best possibleway. 

When she opened her eyes the next morning, her first movement was tofeel under her pillow for the case which held the picture of her mother. She had a half fear that she might have dreamt all that her father hadtold her. No. It was real. The picture was there. The gentle faceseemed to smile at her as she opened the case. How nice to have such abeautiful mother! As she dressed, she made up her mind that she wouldgo to see her grandfather directly she got to Waverley. What would hebe like? Her father had spoken of his musical talent in a half-pityingsort of way. Anna was not fond of music, and she very much hoped thather grandfather would not be too much wrapped up in it to answer all herquestions. Well, she would soon find out everything about him. Herreflections were hurried away by the bustle of departure, for MrForrest, though he travelled so much, could never start on a journeywithout agitation and fuss, and fears as to losing his train. So, forthe next hour, until Anna was safely settled in a through carriage forDornton, with her ticket in her purse, a benevolent old lady opposite toher, and the guard prepared to give her every attention, there was notime to realise anything, except that she must make haste. 

"Well, I think you're all right now, " said Mr Forrest, with a sigh ofrelief, as he rested from his exertions. "Look out for your aunt on theplatform at Dornton; she said she would meet you herself. --Why, " lookingat his watch, "you don't start for six minutes. We needn't have hurriedafter all. Well, there's no object in waiting, as I'm so busy; so I'llsay good-bye now. Remember to write when you get down. Take care ofyourself. "

He kissed his daughter, and was soon out of sight in the crowdedstation. Anna had now really begun her first journey out into theworld. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

DORNTON. 

A bird of the air shall carry the matter. 

On the same afternoon as that on which Anna was travelling towardsWaverley, Mrs Hunt, the doctor's wife in Dornton, held one of herworking parties. This was not at all an unusual event, for the ladiesof Dornton and the neighbourhood had undertaken to embroider somecurtains for their beautiful old church, and this necessitated a weeklymeeting of two hours, followed by the refreshment of tea, andconversation. The people of Dornton were fond of meeting in eachother's houses, and very sociably inclined. They met to work, they metto read Shakespeare, they met to sing and to play the piano, they met todiscuss interesting questions, and they met to talk. It was not, perhaps, so much what they met to do that was the important thing, asthe fact of meeting. 

"So pleasant to _meet_, isn't it?" one lady would say to the other. "I'm not very musical, you know, but I've joined the glee society, because it's an excuse for _meeting_. "

And, certainly, of all the houses in Dornton where these meetings wereheld, Dr Hunt's was the favourite. Mrs Hunt was so amiable andpleasant, the tea was so excellent, and the conversation of a mostsuperior flavour. There was always the chance, too, that the doctormight look in for a moment at tea-time, and though he was discretionitself, and never gossiped about his patients, it was interesting togather from his face whether he was anxious, or the reverse, as to anyspecial case. 

This afternoon, therefore, Mrs Hunt's drawing-room presented a busy andanimated scene. It was a long, low room, with French windows, throughwhich a pleasant old garden, with a wide lawn and shady trees, glimpsesof red roofs beyond, and a church tower, could be seen. Little tableswere placed at convenient intervals, holding silk, scissors, cushionsfull of needles and pins, and all that could be wanted for the work inhand, which was to be embroidered in separate strips; over these manyladies were already deeply engaged, though it was quite early, and therewere still some empty seats. 

"Shall we see Mrs Forrest this afternoon?" asked one of those who satnear the hostess at the end of the room. 

"I think not, " replied Mrs Hunt, as she greeted a new-comer; "she toldme she had to drive out to Losenick about the character of amaid-servant. "

"Oh, well, " returned the other with a little shake of the head, "evenMrs Forrest can't manage to be in two places at once, can she?"

Mrs Hunt smiled, and looked pleasantly round on her assembled guests, but did not make any other answer. 

"Although I was only saying this morning, there's very little MrsForrest can't do if she makes up her mind to it, " resumed Miss Gibbins, the lady who had first spoken. "Look at all her arrangements atWaverley! It's well known that she manages the schools almostentirely--and then her house--so elegant, so orderly--and such a waywith her maids! _Some_ people consider her a little stiff in hermanner, but I don't _know_ that I should call her that. "

She glanced inquiringly at Mrs Hunt, who still smiled and said nothing. 

"It's not such a very difficult thing, " said Mrs Hurst, the wife of thecurate of Dornton, "to be a good manager, or to have good servants, ifyou have plenty of money. " She pressed her lips together ratherbitterly, as she bent over her work. 

"There was one thing, though, " pursued Miss Gibbins, dropping her voicea little, "that Mrs Forrest was not able to prevent, and that was herbrother-in-law's marriage. I happen to know that she felt that verymuch. And it _was_ a sad mistake altogether, wasn't it?"

She addressed herself pointedly to Mrs Hunt, who was gazing serenelyout into the garden, and that lady murmured in a soft tone:

"Poor Prissy Goodwin! How pretty and nice she was!"

"Oh, as to that, dear Mrs Hunt, " broke in a stout lady with round eyesand a very deep voice, who had newly arrived, "that's not quite thequestion. Poor Prissy was very pretty, and very nice and refined, andas good as gold. We all know that. But _was_ it the right marriage forMr Bernard Forrest? An organist's daughter! or you might even say, amusic-master's daughter!"

"Old Mr Goodwin has aged very much lately, " remarked Mrs Hunt. "I methim this morning, looking so tired, that I made him come in and rest alittle. He had been giving a lesson to Mrs Palmer's children out atPynes. "

"How kind and thoughtful of you, dear Mrs Hunt, " said Miss Gibbins. "That's very far for him to walk. I wonder he doesn't give it up. Isuppose, though, he can't afford to do that. "

"I don't think he has ever been the same man since Prissy's marriage, "said Mrs Hunt, "though he plays the organ more beautifully than ever. "

With her spectacles perched upon her nose, her hands crossed comfortablyon her lap, and a most beaming smile on her face, Mrs Hunt looked thepicture of contented idleness, while her guests stitched away busily, with flying fingers, and heads bent over their work. She had done abouthalf an inch of the pattern on her strip, and now, her needle beingunthreaded, made no attempt to continue it. 

"Delia's coming in presently, " she remarked placidly, meeting MissGibbins' sharp glance as it rested on her idle hands; "she will take mywork a little while--ah, here she is, " as the door opened. 

A girl of about sixteen came towards them, stopping to speak to theladies as she passed them on her way up the room. She was short for herage, and rather squarely built, holding herself very upright, andwalking with calmness and decision. 

Everything about Delia Hunt seemed to express determination, from herfirm chin to her dark curly hair, which would always look rough, although it was brushed back from her forehead and fastened up securelyin a knot at the back of her head. Nothing could make it lie flat andsmooth, however, and in spite of all Delia's efforts, it curled andtwisted itself defiantly wherever it had a chance. Perhaps, by doingso, it helped to soften a face which would have been a little hardwithout the good-tempered expression which generally filled the brightbrown eyes. 

"That sort of marriage never answers, " said Mrs Winn, as Delia reachedher mother's side. "Just see what unhappiness it caused. It was abitter blow to Mr and Mrs Forrest; it made poor old Mr Goodwinmiserable, and separated him from his only child; and as to Prissyherself--well, the poor thing didn't live to find out her mistake, andleft her little daughter to feel the consequences of it. "

"Poor little motherless darling, " murmured Mrs Hunt. --"Del, my love, goon with my work a little, while I say a few words to old Mrs Crow. "

Delia took her mother's place, threaded her needle, raised her eyebrowswith an amused air, as she examined the work accomplished, and bent herhead industriously over it. 

"Doesn't it seem quite impossible, " said Miss Gibbins, "to realise thatPrissy's daughter is really coming to Waverley to-morrow! Why, it seemsthe other day that I saw Prissy married in Dornton church!"

"It must be fifteen years ago at the least, " said Mrs Winn, in suchdeep tones that they seemed to roll round the room. "The child must befourteen years old. "

"She wore grey cashmere, " said Miss Gibbins, reflectively, "and a littlewhite bonnet. And the sun streamed in upon her through the paintedwindow. I remember thinking she looked like a dove. I wonder if thechild is like her. "

"The Forrests have never taken much notice of Mr Goodwin, since themarriage, " said Mrs Hurst, "but I suppose, now his grandchild is tolive there, all that will be altered. "

Delia looked quickly up at the speaker, but checked the words on herlips, and said nothing. 

"You can't do away with the ties of blood, " said Mrs Winn; "the child'shis grandchild. You can't ignore that. "

"Why should you want to ignore it?" asked Delia, suddenly raising hereyes and looking straight at her. 

The attack was so unexpected that Mrs Winn had no answer ready. Sheremained speechless, with her large grey eyes wider open than usual, forquite a minute before she said, "These are matters, Delia, which you aretoo young to understand. "

"Perhaps I am, " answered Delia; "but I can understand one thing verywell, and that is, that Mr Goodwin is a grandfather that any one oughtto be proud of, and that, if his relations are not proud of him, it isbecause they're not worthy of him. "

"Oh, well, " said Miss Gibbins, shaking her head rather nervously as shelooked at Delia, "we all know what a champion Mr Goodwin has in you, Delia. `Music with its silver sound' draws you together, as Shakespearesays. And, of course, we're all proud of our organist in Dornton, and, of course, he has great talent. Still, you know, when all's said anddone, he _is_ a music-master, and in quite a different position from theForrests. "

"Socially, " said Mrs Winn, placing her large, white hand flat on thetable beside her, to emphasise her words, "Mr Goodwin is not on thesame footing. When Delia is older she will know what that means. "

"I know it now, " replied Delia. "I never consider them on the samefooting at all. There are plenty of clergymen everywhere, but wherecould you find any one who can play the violin like Mr Goodwin?"

She fixed her eyes with innocent inquiry on Mrs Winn. Mrs Hurstbridled a little. 

"I do think, " she said, "that clergymen occupy a position quite apart. I like Mr Goodwin very much. I've always thought him a nice oldgentleman, and Herbert admires his playing, but--"

"Of course, of course, " said Mrs Winn, "we must be all agreed as tothat. --You're too fond, my dear Delia, of giving your opinion onsubjects where ignorance should keep you silent. A girl of your ageshould try to behave herself, lowly and reverently, to all her betters. "

"So I do, " said Delia, with a smile; "in fact, I feel so lowly andreverent sometimes, that I could almost worship Mr Goodwin. I am readyto humble myself to the dust, when I hear him playing the violin. "

Mrs Winn was preparing to make a severe answer to this, when MissGibbins, who was tired of being silent, broke adroitly in, and changedthe subject. 

"You missed a treat last Thursday, Mrs Winn, by losing the Shakespearereading. It was rather far to get out to Pynes, to be sure, but it wasworth the trouble, to hear Mrs Hurst read `Arthur. '"

The curate's wife gave a little smile, which quickly faded as MissGibbins continued: "I had no idea there was anything so touching inShakespeare. Positively melting! And then Mrs Palmer looked so well!She wore that rich plum-coloured silk, you know, with handsome lace, anda row of most beautiful lockets. I thought to myself, as she stood upto read in that sumptuous drawing-room, that the effect was regal. `Regal, ' I said afterwards, is the only word to express Mrs Palmer'sappearance this afternoon. "

"What part did Mrs Palmer read?" asked Delia, as Miss Gibbins lookedround for sympathy. 

"Let me see. Dear me, it's quite escaped my memory. Ah, I have it. Itwas the mother of the poor little boy, but I forget her name. --You willknow, Mrs Hurst; you have such a memory!"

"It was Constance, " said the curate's wife. "Mrs Palmer didn't dojustice to the part. It was rather too much for her. Indeed, I don'tconsider that they arranged the parts well last time. They gave myhusband nothing but `messengers, ' and the Vicar had `King John. ' Now, Idon't want to be partial, but I think most people would agree thatHerbert reads Shakespeare _rather_ better than the Vicar. "

"I wonder, " said Miss Gibbins, turning to Delia, as the murmur of assentto this speech died away, "that you haven't joined us yet, but I supposeyour studies occupy you at present. "

"But I couldn't read aloud, in any case, before a lot of people, " saidDelia, "and Shakespeare must be so very difficult. "

"You'd get used to it, " said Miss Gibbins. "I remember, " with a littlelaugh, "how nervous _I_ felt the first time I stood up to read. Myheart beat so fast I thought it would choke me. The first sentence Ihad to say was, `Cut him in pieces!' and the words came out quite in awhisper. But now I can read long speeches without losing my breath orfeeling at all uncomfortable. "

"I like the readings, " said Mrs Hurst, "because they keep up one'sknowledge of Shakespeare, and that _must_ be refining and elevating, asHerbert says. "

"So pleasant, too, that the clergy can join, " added Miss Gibbins. 

"Mrs Crow objects to that, " said Mrs Hurst. "She told me once sheconsidered it wrong, because they might be called straight away fromreading plays to attend a deathbed. Herbert, of course, doesn't agreewith her, or he wouldn't have helped to get them up. He has a greatopinion of Shakespeare as an elevating influence, and though he _did_write plays, they're hardly ever acted. He doesn't seem, somehow, tohave much to do with the theatre. "

"Between ourselves, " said Miss Gibbins, sinking her voice and glancingto the other end of the room, where Mrs Crow's black bonnet was noddingconfidentially at Mrs Hunt, "dear old Mrs Crow is _rather_narrow-minded. I should think the presence of the Vicar at the readingsmight satisfy her that all was right. "

"The presence of _any_ clergyman, " began Mrs Hurst, "ought to besufficient warrant that--"

But her sentence was not finished, for at this moment a little generalrustle at the further end of the room, the sudden ceasing ofconversation, and the door set wide open, showed that it was time toadjourn for tea. Work was rolled up, thimbles and scissors put away inwork-bags, and very soon the whole assembly had floated across the hallinto the dining-room, and was pleasantly engaged upon Mrs Hunt'shospitable preparations for refreshment. Brisk little remarks filledthe air as they stood about with their teacups in their hands. 

"I never can resist your delicious scones, Mrs Hunt. --Home-made? Youdon't say so. I wish my cook could make them. "--"Thank you, Delia; I_will_ take another cup of coffee: yours is always so good. "--"Such apleasant afternoon! Dear me, nearly five o'clock? How timeflies. "--"Dr Hunt very busy? Fever in Back Row? So sorry. Butdecreasing? So glad. "--"Good-bye, _dear_ Mrs Hunt. We meet nextThursday, I hope?"--and so on, until the last lady had said farewell andsmiled affectionately at her hostess, and a sudden silence fell on theroom, left in the possession of Delia and her mother. 

"Del, my love, " said the latter caressingly, "go and put thedrawing-room straight, and see that all those things are cleared away. I will try to get a little nap. Dear old Mrs Crow had so much to tellme that my head quite aches. "

Delia went into the deserted drawing-room, where the chairs and tables, standing about in the little groups left by their late occupiers, stillseemed to have a confidential air, as though they were telling eachother interesting bits of news. She moved about with a preoccupiedfrown on her brow, picking up morsels of silk from the floor, rolling upstrips of serge, and pushing back chairs and tables, until the room hadregained its ordinary look. Then she stretched her arms above her head, gave a sigh of relief, and strolled out of the open French windows intothe garden. The air was very calm and still, so that various minglednoises from the town could be plainly heard, though not loudly enough toproduce more than a subdued hum, which was rather soothing thanotherwise. Amongst them the deep recurring tones of the church bell, ringing for evening prayers, fell upon Delia's ear as she wanderedslowly up the gravel path, her head full of busy thoughts. 

They were not wholly pleasant thoughts, and they had to do chiefly withtwo people, one very well known to her, and the other quite a stranger--Mr Goodwin, and his grandchild, Anna Forrest. Delia could hardly makeup her mind whether she were pleased or annoyed at the idea of Anna'sarrival. Of course she was glad, she told herself, of anything thatwould please the "Professor, " as she always called Mr Goodwin; and shewas curious and anxious to see what the new-comer would be like, forperhaps they might be companions and friends, though Anna was two yearsyounger than herself. She could not, however, prevent a sort ofsuspicion that made her feel uneasy. Anna might be proud. She mighteven speak of the Professor in the condescending tone which so manypeople used in Dornton. Mrs Forrest at Waverley always looked proud, Delia thought. Perhaps Anna would be like her. 

"If she is, " said Delia to herself, suddenly stopping to snap off thehead of a snapdragon which grew in an angle of the old red wall--"if sheis--if she dares--if she doesn't see that the Professor is worth morethan all the people in Dornton--_I will_ despise her--I will--"

She stopped and shook her head. 

"And if it's the other way, and she loves and honours him as she ought, and is everything to him, and, and, takes my place, what shall I dothen? Why, then, I will try not to detest her. "

She laughed a little as she stooped to gather some white pinks whichbordered the path, and fastened them in her dress. 

"Pretty she is sure to be, " she continued to herself, "like her mother, whom they never mention without praise--and she is almost certain tolove music. Dear old Professor, how pleased he will be! I will try notto mind, but I do hope she can't play the violin as well as I do. Afterall, it would be rather unfair if she had a beautiful face and a musicalsoul as well. "

The bell stopped, and the succeeding silence was harshly broken by theshrill whistle of a train. 

"There's the five o'clock train, " said Delia to herself; "to-morrow bythis time she will be here. "

Mrs Winn and Miss Gibbins meanwhile had pursued their way hometogether, for they lived close to each other. 

"It's a pity Delia Hunt has such blunt manners, isn't it?" said thelatter regretfully, "and such very decided opinions for a young girl?It's not at all becoming. I felt quite uncomfortable just now. "

"She'll know better by-and-by, " said Mrs Winn. "There's a great dealof good in Delia, but she is conceited and self-willed, like all youngpeople. "

Miss Gibbins sighed. "She'll never be so amiable as her dear mother, "she said. --"Why!" suddenly changing her tone to one of surprise, "isn'tthat Mr Oswald?"

"Yes, I think so, " said Mrs Winn, gazing after the spring-cart whichhad passed them rapidly. "What then?"

"He had a _child_ with him, " said Miss Gibbins impressively. "A childwith fair hair, like Prissy Goodwin's, and they came from the station. Something tells me it was Prissy's daughter. "

"Nonsense, Julia, " replied Mrs Winn; "she's not expected tillto-morrow. Mrs Forrest told Mrs Hunt so herself. Besides, how shouldMr Oswald have anything to do with meeting her? That was his ownlittle girl with him, I daresay. "

"Daisy Oswald has close-cropped, black hair, " replied Miss Gibbins, quite unshaken in her opinion. "This child was older, and her hairshone like gold. I feel sure it was Prissy's daughter. "

CHAPTER THREE. 

WAVERLEY. 

 Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide. 

 Milton. 

While this went on at Dornton, Anna was getting nearer and nearer to hernew home. At first she was pleased and excited at setting forth on ajourney all by herself, and found plenty to occupy her with all she sawfrom the carriage windows, and with wondering which of the villages andtowns she passed so rapidly were like Dornton and Waverley. It wassurprising that the old lady sitting opposite to her could look soplacid and calm. Perhaps, however, she was not going to a strange placeamongst new people, and most likely had taken a great many journeysalready in her life. Anna was glad this was not her own ease: it mustbe very dull, she thought, to be old, and to have got used toeverything, and to have almost nothing to look forward to. 

As the day wore on, and the hot afternoon sun streamed in at thewindows, the old lady, who was her only companion, fell fast asleep, andAnna began to grow rather weary. She took the case with her mother'spicture in it out of her pocket and studied it again attentively. Thegentle, sweet face seemed to smile back kindly at her. "If you are halfas beautiful and a quarter as good, " her father had said. Was she atall like the picture now? Anna wondered. Surely her hair was ratherthe same colour. She pulled a piece of it round to the front--it wascertainly yellow, but hardly so bright. Well, her grandfather wouldtell her--she would ask him on the very first opportunity. Hergrandfather! It was wonderful to think she should really see him soon, and ask him all sorts of questions about her mother. He lived atDornton, but that was only two miles from Waverley, and, no doubt, sheshould often be able to go there. He was an organist. 

Her father's tone, half-pitying, half-disapproving, came back to herwith the word. She tried to think of what she knew about organists. Itwas not much. There was an organist in the church in London to whichshe had gone every Sunday with Miss Milverton, but he was alwaysconcealed behind red curtains, so that she did not even know what helooked like. The organist must certainly be an important person in achurch. Anna did not see how the service could get on without him. What a pity that her grandfather did not play the organ in her UncleJohn's church, instead of at Dornton!

She made a great many resolves as she sat there, with her mother'sportrait in her hand: she would be very fond of her grandfather, and, ofcourse, he would be very fond of her; and as he lived all alone, therewould be a great many things she could do to make him happier. Shepictured herself becoming very soon his chief comforter and companion, and began to wonder how he had done without her so long. 

Lost in these thoughts, she hardly noticed that the train had begun toslacken its pace; presently, it stopped at a large station. The oldlady roused herself, tied her bonnet strings, and evidently prepared fora move. 

"You're going farther, my dear, " she said kindly. "Dornton is the nextstation but one. You won't mind being alone a little while?"

She nodded and smiled from the platform. Anna handed out her numerousparcels and baskets: the train moved on, and she was now quite alone. She might really begin to look out for Dornton, which must be quitenear. It seemed a long time coming, however, and she had made a goodmany false starts, grasping her rugs and umbrella, before there was anunmistakable shout of "Dornton!" She got out and looked up and down theplatform, but it was easy to see that Mrs Forrest was not there. Twoporters, a newspaper boy, and one or two farmers, were moving about inthe small station, but no one in the least like Aunt Sarah. Anna stoodirresolute. She had been so certain that Aunt Sarah would be there, that she had not even wondered what she should do in any other case. Mrs Forrest had promised to come herself, and Anna could not rememberthat she had ever failed to carry out her arrangements at exactly thetime named. 

"If it had been father, now, " she said to herself in her perplexity, "hewould perhaps have forgotten, but Aunt Sarah--"

"Any luggage, miss?" asked the red-faced young porter. 

"Oh yes, please, " said Anna; "and I expected some one to meet me--alady. "

She looked anxiously at him. 

"Do 'ee want to go into the town?" he asked, as Anna pointed out hertrunks. "There's a omnibus outside. "

"No; I want to go to Waverley Vicarage, " said Anna, feeling verydeserted. "How can I get there?"

She followed the porter as he wheeled the boxes outside the station, where a small omnibus was waiting, and also a high spring-cart, in whichsat a well-to-do-looking farmer. 

"You ain't seen no one from Waverley, Mr Oswald?" said the porter. "This 'ere young lady expects some one to meet her. "

The farmer looked thoughtfully at Anna. 

"Waverley, eh, " he repeated, "Vicarage?"

"Ah, " said the porter, nodding. 

Another long gaze. 

"Well, I'm going by the gate myself, " he said at last. "I reckon Mollywouldn't make much odds of the lot, " glancing at the luggage, "if theyoung lady would like a lift. "

"Perhaps, " said Anna, hesitatingly, "I'd better have a cab, as MrsForrest is not here. "

"I could order you a fly at the Blue Boar, " said the porter. "'Twouldn't be ready, not for a half-hour or so. Mr Oswald 'd get yerover a deal quicker. "

No cabs! What a strange place, and how unlike London! Anna glanceduncertainly at the high cart, the tall strawberry horse stampingimpatiently, and the good-natured, brown face of the farmer. It wouldbe an odd way of arriving at Waverley, and she was not at all sure thatAunt Sarah would approve of it; but what was she to do? It was verykind of the farmer; would he expect to be paid?

"Better come along, missie, " said Mr Oswald, as these thoughts passedrapidly through her mind. "You'll be over in a brace of shakes. --Hoistthem things in at the back, Jim. "

Almost before she knew it, Anna had taken the broad hand held out tohelp her, had mounted the high step, and was seated by the farmer'sside. 

"Any port in a storm, eh?" he said, good-naturedly, as he put the rugover her knees. --"All right at the back, Jim?"

A shake of the reins, and Molly dashed forward with a bound that almostthrew Anna off her seat, and whirled the cart out of the station-yard atwhat seemed to her a fearful pace. 

"She'll quiet down directly, " said Mr Oswald; "she's fretted a bitstanding at the station. Don't ye be nervous, missie; there's not amorsel of harm in her. "

Nevertheless, Anna felt obliged to grasp the side of the cart tightly asMolly 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 andhouses looked! If only Molly would go a little slower!

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

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

"And here's the new bank, " continued Mr Oswald, with some pride, asthey passed a tall, red brick building which seemed to stare the otherhouses out of countenance; "and the house inside the double white gatesis 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 theneighbourhood, " 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; andMr 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 fromhere; it's an ancient part of Dornton, in between High Street and MarketStreet. 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 grandfathermust be an important person, although Back Row did not sound a veryimportant place. 

"How fast your horse goes, " she said, by way of continuing theconversation, for, after her long silence in the train, it was quitepleasant 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 bredat Leas Farm, and she's a credit to it. "

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

"Oh, how pretty!" cried Anna. 

She could see over these hedges, across the straggling wreaths ofdog-roses and clematis, to the meadows on either hand, where the tallgrass, sprinkled with silvery ox-eyed daisies, stood ready for hay. Beyond these again came the deep brown of some ploughed land, and nowand then bits of upland pasture, with cows and sheep feeding. The riverDorn, which Mr Oswald had pointed out from the town, wound its zigzagcourse along the valley, which they were now leaving behind them. Asthey 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 twelveyears old, Daisy is. Now, you wouldn't guess what I gave her as abirthday present?"

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

"'Twas as pretty a calf as you ever saw, with a white star on itsforehead. Nothing would do after that but I must buy her a collar forit. `Puppa, ' she says, `when you go into Dornton, you must get me acollar and a bell, like there is in my picture-book. ' My word!" saidthe farmer, slapping his knee, "how all the beasts carried on when theyfirst heard that bell in the farmyard! You never saw such antics! Itwas 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 laugha little too. 

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

It was at an old man who was climbing slowly over it into the steeplane. He wore shabby, black clothes: his shoulders were bent, and hisgrey 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. "Lookstired, poor old gentleman; hot day for a long walk. "

Anna started and looked eagerly back, but Molly's long stride hadalready placed a good distance between herself and the figure which wasdescending the hill. That her grandfather! Was it possible? He lookedso poor, so dusty, so old, such a contrast to the merry June evening, ashe tramped wearily down the flowery lane, a little bent to one side bythe 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 thefarmer spoke in a tone of pity. Her father had done so too, sheremembered. Did every one pity her grandfather? There was all the moreneed, certainly, that she should help and cheer him, yet Anna feltvaguely disappointed, she hardly knew why. 

These thoughts chased away her smiles completely, and such a graveexpression 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 againstit--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 takethe spirit out of you; I'd sooner myself ride on horseback for a wholeday, than sit in a train half a one. "

A long, narrow road, with iron railings on either side, dividing it frombroad meadows, brought them to another gate, which the farmer got downto 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'shead 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. Againthe question of payment troubled her, but he did not leave her long toconsider 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 stillmurmuring her thanks. 

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

"Yes, miss, " she said, in answer to Anna's inquiry; "Mrs Forrest is athome; she's in the garden, if you'll please to come this way; we didn'texpect you till to-morrow. "

Through the door opposite, Anna could see a lawn, a tea-table under alarge tree, a gentleman in a wicker chair, and a lady, in abroad-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 wouldmeet me to-day. "

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

"Well, in the meantime, here is Anna, safe and sound, " he replied; "sothere's no harm done. --Come and sit down in the shade, my dear; you'vehad 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 comingwith Mr Oswald. 

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

"It doesn't really matter much, my dear, does it?" said Mr Forrest, ashe placed a chair for his niece. "She's managed to get here without anyaccident, 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 MrsForrest, "and I repeated them twice to Bernard, so that there should beno 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 thestation, and no one to meet her there! And I had made all myarrangements for to-morrow so carefully. "

As Anna drank her tea, she listened to all this, and intended everymoment to mention that Mr Oswald had driven her from the station, butshe was held back by a mixture of shyness and fear of what her auntwould say; perhaps she had done something very silly, and what MrsForrest would call unsuitable! At any rate, it was easier just now toleave 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 sometime, however, Mrs Forrest continued to lament that her arrangementshad not been properly carried out, and when the conversation did change, Anna had a great many questions to answer about her father and hisintended journey. Then a message was brought out to her uncle, overwhich he and Mrs Forrest bent in grave consultation. She had nowleisure to look about her. How pretty it all was! The long, low frontof the Vicarage stood facing her, with the smooth green lawn betweenthem, and up the supports of the veranda there were masses of climbingplants 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, andthe 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 asthe old, but, nevertheless, with the evening light resting on it, it alllooked 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 lovelyplace, and she said it so heartily that her aunt was evidently pleased. She kissed her. 

"I hope you will be happy whilst you are with us, my dear, " she said, "and that Waverley may always be full of pleasant recollections to you. "

Anna was wakened next morning from a very sound sleep by a littletapping noise at her window, which she heard for some time in a sort ofhalf-dream, without being quite roused by it; it was so persistent, however, that at last she felt she must open her eyes to find out whatit was. Where was she? For the first few minutes she looked round theroom in puzzled surprise, and could not make out at all. It was soquiet, and clear, and bright, with sunbeams dancing about on the walls, so different altogether from the dingy, grey colour of a morning inLondon. Soon, however, she remembered she was in the country atWaverley; and her mother's picture on the toilet-table brought back toher mind all that had passed yesterday--her journey, her drive with thefarmer, her grandfather in the lane. 

There were two things she must certainly do to-day, she told herself, asshe watched the quivering shadows on the wall. First, she must ask heraunt to let her go at once and see her grandfather; and then she musttell her all about her arrival at the station yesterday, and how kindlyFarmer Oswald had come to her help. It was strange that, now she hadactually got to Waverley, and was only two miles away from hergrandfather, that she did not feel nearly so eager to talk to him as shehad while she was on her journey. However, she need not think aboutthat now. Here she was at Waverley, where it was all sunny anddelightful; she should not see smoky London, or have any more walks inthe Park with her governess, for a long while, perhaps never again. Shemeant to enjoy herself, and be very happy, and nothing disagreeable ortiresome could happen in this beautiful place. 

There was the little tapping noise again! What could it be? Annajumped out of bed, went softly to the window, and drew up the blind. Her bedroom was over the veranda, up which some cluster-roses hadclimbed, flung themselves in masses on the roof, and reached out some oftheir branches as far as the window-sill. One bold little bunch hadpressed itself close up against the pane, and the tight pink budsclattered against it whenever they were stirred by the breeze. Thetapping noise was fully accounted for, but Anna could not turn away, itwas all so beautiful and so new to her. 

She pushed up the window, and leaned out. What a lovely smell! Therewas a long bed of mignonette and heliotrope just below, but, besides thefragrance from this, the air was full of all the sweet scents whichbelong to an early summer morning in the country. What nice, curiousnoises, too, all mixed up together! The bees buzzing in the flowersbeneath, the little winds rustling in the leaves, the cheerful chirpsand scraps of song from the birds, the crow of a distant cock, the deep, low cooing of the pigeons in the stable-yard near. Anna longed to beout-of-doors, among these pleasant sights and sounds; she suddenlyturned away, and began to dress herself quickly. The stable clockstruck seven just as she was ready, and she ran down-stairs into thegarden with a delightful sense of freedom. The sunshine was splendid;this was indeed different from walking in a London park; how happy sheshould be in this beautiful place! On exploring a little, she foundthat the garden was not nearly so large as it looked, for the end of itwas hidden by a great walnut tree which stood on the lawn. Behind thiscame a square piece of kitchen garden, divided from the fields by a sunkfence, with a little wooden foot-bridge across it. 

Anna danced along by the side of the border, where the flowers stood inblooming luxuriance and the most perfect order. Aunt Sarah was justlyproud of her garden, and at present it was in brilliant perfection. Anna knew hardly any of their names, and indeed, except the roses, theywere strange to her; she had not thought there could be so many kinds, and all so beautiful. Reaching the kitchen garden, however, she foundsome old friends--a long row of sweet-peas, fluttering on their stems, like many-coloured butterflies poised for flight; these were familiar, for she had seen them in greengrocers' shops in London, tied up intight, close bunches. How different they looked at Waverley! Thecolours were twice as bright. 

"I like these best of all, " she said aloud, and as she spoke, a stepsounded on the gravel, and there was Aunt Sarah, in her garden hat, witha basket, and scissors in her hand. 

"You admire my sweet-peas, Anna, " she said, kissing her. "I came out togather some. I find it is so much better to get my flowers before thesun is too hot. Now, you can help me. "

They walked slowly along the hedge of sweet-peas together, picking themas they went. 

"What a beautiful garden yours is, Aunt Sarah, " cried Anna. 

Mrs Forrest looked pleased. 

"There are many larger ones about here, " she said, "but I certainlythink my flowers do me credit. I attend to them a great deal myself, but, of course, I cannot give them as much time as I should like. Nowyou are come, we shall be busier than ever, because we must give sometime every day to your studies. "

"Miss Milverton said she would write to you about the lessons I havebeen doing, aunt, " said Anna. 

"I have arranged, " continued Aunt Sarah, "to read with you for an hourevery morning; it is difficult to squeeze it in, but I have managed it. And then I am hoping that you will join in some lessons with thePalmers--girls of your own age, who live near. If their governess willallow you to learn French and German with them, it would be a good plan, and would give you companions besides. --By the way, Anna, Miss Milvertonsays in her letter that you don't make any progress in your music. Howis that?"

"I don't care very much for music, " said Anna. "I would much rather notgo on with it, unless you want me to. "

She thought that her aunt looked rather relieved, as she remarked thatit was useless for people who were not musical to waste their time inlearning to play, and that she should not make a point of music-lessonsat present. 

"Now I must cut some roses, " added Mrs Forrest, as she put the glowingbunches of sweet-peas into her basket. "Come this way. "

Anna followed to a little nursery of standard rose-trees near thefoot-bridge. 

"What are those chimneys I can just see straight over the fields?" sheasked her aunt. 

"Leas Farm, " she replied. "It belongs to Mr Oswald, a very respectablefarmer, who owns a good deal of land round here. We have our milk andbutter from him. Your uncle used to keep his own cows, but he foundthem a trouble, and Mrs Oswald is an excellent dairy woman. "

Here was an opportunity for Anna's explanation. The words were on herlips, when they were interrupted by the loud sound of a bell from thehouse. 

"The breakfast bell!" said Mrs Forrest, abruptly turning away from herroses, and beginning to hasten towards the house, without pausing amoment. "I hope you will always be particular in one point, my dearAnna, and that is punctuality. More hangs upon it than most peoplerecognise: the comfort of a household certainly does. If you are latefor one thing, you are late for the next, and so on, until the whole dayis thrown into disorder. I am obliged to map my day carefully out toget through my business, and I expect others to do the same. I speakseriously, because your father is one of the most unpunctual men I everknew; and if you have inherited his failing, you cannot begin tostruggle against it too soon. "

Anna had not been many days at the Vicarage before she found thatpunctuality was Aunt Sarah's idol, and that nothing offended her morethan want of respect to it from others. Certainly everything went likeclockwork at Waverley, and though Anna fancied that Mr Forrest inwardlyrebelled a little, he was outwardly quite submissive. All Aunt Sarah'sarrangements and plans were so neatly fitted into each other that theleast transgression in one upset the next, and the effect of this wasthat she had no odds and ends of leisure to spare. Anna even found itdifficult to put all the questions she had in her mind. 

"Not now, my dear, I am engaged, " was the frequent reply. She managedto learn, however, that a visit to her grandfather had already beenplanned for that week, and that Mrs Forrest intended to leave her athis house at Dornton and fetch her again after driving farther on tomake a call. 

With this she was obliged to be satisfied, and it was quite strange how, after a few days, the new surroundings and rules and pleasures ofWaverley seemed to make much that had filled her mind on her arrivalfade and grow less important. She still wished to see her grandfatheragain; but the idea of being his chief comforter and support now seemedimpossible, and rather foolish, and she would not have hinted it to AuntSarah on any account. Neither did it seem necessary, as the days wenton, to mention her drive with Mr Oswald and the accident of passing hergrandfather in the lane. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE PROFESSOR. 

 . .. I have heard a grave divine say that God has two dwellings--one in heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart. --_Izaak Walton_. 

"Del, my love, " said Mrs Hunt, "I feel one of my worst headaches comingon. Will you go this afternoon to see Mrs Winn, instead of me?" Deliastood under the medlar tree on the lawn, ready to go out, with a bunchof roses in her hand, and her violin-case. She looked at her motherinquiringly, for Mrs Hunt had not just then any appearance ofdiscomfort. She was sitting in an easy canvas chair, a broad-brimmedhat upon her head, and a newspaper in her hands; her slippered feetrested on a little wooden stool, and on a table by her side were a cupof tea, a nicely buttered roll, and a few very ripe strawberries. 

"Hadn't you better wait, " said Delia, after a moment's pause, "until youcan go yourself? Mrs Winn would much rather see you. Besides--it ismy music afternoon. "

Mrs Hunt was looking up and down the columns of the paper while herdaughter spoke: she did not answer at once, and when she did, it wasscarcely an answer so much as a continuation of her own train ofthoughts. 

"She has had a tickling cough for so many nights. She can hardly sleepfor it, and I promised her a pot of my own black currant jelly. "

"It's a great deal out of my way, " said Delia. 

"If you go, " continued Mrs Hunt, without raising her eyes, "you willfind the row of little pots on the top shelf of the storeroom cupboard. "

Delia bit her lip. 

"If I go, " she said, "I must shorten my music-lesson. "

Mrs Hunt said nothing, but looked as amiable as ever. A frown gatheredon Delia's forehead: she stood irresolute for a minute, and then, with asudden effort, turned and went quickly into the house. Mrs Huntstirred her tea, tasted a strawberry, and leant back in her chair with agentle sigh of comfort. In a few minutes Delia reappeared hurriedly. 

"There is _no_ black currant jelly in the storeroom, " she said, with anair of exasperation. 

Mrs Hunt looked up in mild surprise. 

"How strange!" she said. "Could I have moved those pots? Ah, now Iremember! I had a dream that all the jam was mouldy, and so I moved itinto that cupboard in the kitchen. That was why cook left. She didn'tlike me to use that cupboard for the jam. "

"And, meanwhile, where is it?" said Delia. 

"Such a wicked mother to give you so much trouble!" murmured Mrs Hunt, with a sweet smile. "But, Del, my love, you must try not to look somorose for trifles--it gives _such_ an ugly turn to the features. You'll find the jelly in that nice corner cupboard in the kitchen. Here's the key"--feeling in her pocket--"no; it is not here--where did Ileave my keys? Oh, you'll find them in the pocket of my black sergedress--and if they're not there, they are sure to be in the pocket of mygardening apron. My kind love to Mrs Winn. Tell her to take itconstantly in the night. And don't hurry, love, it's _so_ warm; youlook heated already. "

In spite of this last advice, it was almost at a run that Delia, havingat last found the keys and the jam, set forth on her errand. Perhaps, if she were very quick, she need not lose much time with the Professor, after all, but she felt ruffled and rather cross at the delay. It wasnot an unusual frame of mind, for she was not naturally of a patienttemper, and did not bear very well the little daily frets and jars ofher life. She chafed inwardly as she went quickly on her way, that hermusic, which seemed to her the most important thing in the world, shouldbe sacrificed to anything so uninteresting and dull as Mrs Winn's blackcurrant jam. It was all the more trying this afternoon, because, sinceAnna Forrest's arrival, she had purposely kept away from the Professor, and had not seen him for a whole fortnight. A mixed feeling of jealousyand pride had made her determined that Anna should have everyopportunity of making Mr Goodwin's acquaintance without anyinterference from herself. It was only just and right that hisgrandchild should have the first place in his affections, the placewhich hitherto had been her own. Well, now she must take the secondplace, and if Anna made the Professor happier, it would not matter. Atany rate, no one should know, however keenly she felt it. 

Mrs Winn, who was a widow, lived in an old-fashioned, red brick housefacing the High Street; it had a respectable, dignified appearance, suggesting solid comfort, like the person of its owner. Mrs Winn, however, was a lady not anxious for her own well-being only, but mostcharitably disposed towards others who were not so prosperous asherself. She was the Vicar's right hand in all the various methods forhelping the poor of his parish: clothing clubs, Dorcas meetings, coalclubs, lending library, were all indebted to Mrs Winn for substantialaid, both in the form of money and personal help. 

She was looked up to as a power in Dornton, and her house was muchfrequented by all those interested in parish matters, so that she wasseldom to be found alone. Perhaps, also, the fact that the delightfulbow-window of her usual up-stairs sitting-room looked straight across toAppleby's, the post-office and stationer, increased its attractions. "It makes it so lively, " Mrs Winn was wont to observe. "I seldom passa day, even if I don't go out, without seeing Mr Field, or Mr Hurst, or some of the country clergy, going in and out of Appleby's. I neverfeel dull. "

To-day, to her great relief, Delia found Mrs Winn quite alone. She wassitting at a table drawn up into the bow-window, busily engaged incovering books with whitey-brown paper. On her right was a pile ofgaily bound volumes, blue, red, and purple, which were quickly reducedto a pale brown, unattractive appearance in her practised hands, andplaced in a pile on her left. Delia thought Mrs Winn lookedwhitey-brown as well as the books, for there was no decided colour abouther: her eyes were pale, as well as the narrow line of hair which showedbeneath the border of her white cap; and her dresses were always of adoubtful shade, between brown and grey. 

She welcomed Delia kindly, but with the repressed air of severity whichshe always reserved for her. 

"How like your dear mother!" she exclaimed, on receiving the pot ofjelly. --"Yes; my cough is a little better, tell her, but I thought Iwould keep indoors to-day--and, you see, I've all these books to getthrough, so it's just as well. Mr Field got them in London for thelibrary the other day. "

"What a pity they must be covered, " said Delia, glancing from one pileto the other; "the children would like the bright colours so muchbetter. "

"A nice state they would be in, in a week, " said Mrs Winn, stolidly, asshe folded, and snipped, and turned a book about in her large, capablehands. "Besides, it's better to teach the children not to care forpretty things. "

"Is it?" said Delia. "I should have thought that was just what theyought to learn. "

"The love of pretty things, " said Mrs Winn, sternly, "is like the loveof money, the root of all evil; and has led quite as many peopleastray. --All these books have to be labelled and numbered, " she added, after a pause. "You might do some, Delia, if you're not in a hurry. "

"Oh, but I am, " said Delia, glancing at the clock. "I am going to MrGoodwin for a lesson, and I am late already. "

Mrs Winn had, however, some information to give about Mr Goodwin. Julia Gibbins, who had just looked in, had met him on the way to give alesson at Pynes. 

"So, " she added, "he can't possibly be home for another half-hour atleast, you know; and you may just as well spend the time in doingsomething useful. "

With a little sigh of disappointment, Delia took off her gloves andseated herself opposite to Mrs Winn. Everything seemed against herto-day. 

"And how, " said that lady, having supplied her with scissors and paper, "do you get on with Anna Forrest? You're with Mr Goodwin so much, Isuppose you know her quite well by this time. "

"Indeed, I don't, " said Delia. "I haven't even seen her yet; have you?"

"I've seen her twice, " said Mrs Winn. "She's pretty enough, though notto be compared to her mother; more like the Forrests, and has herfather's pleasant manners. If _looks_ were the only things to consider, she would do very well. "

"What's the matter with her?" asked Delia, bluntly, for Mrs Winn spokeas though she knew much more than she expressed. 

"Why, I've every reason to suppose, " she began deliberately--thenbreaking off--"Take care, Delia, " she exclaimed; "you're cutting thatcover too narrow. Let me show you. You must leave a good bit to tuckunder, don't you see, or it will be off again directly. "

Delia had never in her life been so anxious for Mrs Winn to finish asentence, but she tried to control her impatience, and bent herattention to the brown paper cover. 

"It only shows, " continued Mrs Winn, when her instructions were ended, "that I was right in what I said the other day about Mr BernardForrest's marriage. That sort of thing never answers. That child hasevidently been brought up without a strict regard for truth. "

"What has she done?" asked Delia. 

"Not, of course, " said Mrs Winn, "that poor Prissy could have hadanything to do with that. "

The book Delia held slipped from her impatient fingers, and fell to theground flat on its face. 

"My _dear_ Delia, " said Mrs Winn, picking it up, and smoothing theleaves, with a shocked look, "the books get worn out quite soon enough, without being tossed about like that. "

"I'm very sorry, " said Delia, humbly. --"But do tell me what it is youmean about Anna Forrest. "

"It's nothing at all pleasant, " said Mrs Winn, "but as you're likely tosee something of her, you ought to know that I've every reason tobelieve that she's not quite straightforward. Now, with all yourfaults, Delia--and you've plenty of them--I never found you untruthful. "

She fixed her large, round eyes on her companion for a moment, but asDelia made no remark, resumed--

"On the evening of your last working party but one, Julia Gibbins and Isaw Mr Oswald of Leas Farm driving Anna Forrest from the station. Ofcourse, we didn't know her then. But Julia felt sure it was Anna, andit turned out she was right. Curiously enough, we met Mrs Forrest andthe child in Appleby's shortly after, and Mrs Forrest said how unluckyit had been that there was a confusion about the day of her niece'sarrival, and no one to meet her at the station; but, fortunately, shesaid, Anna was sensible enough to take a fly, so that was all right. Now, you see, my dear Delia, she _didn't_ take a fly, " added Mrs Winn, solemnly, "so she must have deceived her aunt. "

Mrs Winn's most important stories had so often turned out to be foundedon mistakes, that Delia was not much impressed by this one, nor disposedto think worse of Anna because of it. 

"Oh, I daresay there's a mistake somewhere, " she said, lightly, risingand picking up her flowers and her violin-case. "I must go now, MrsWinn; the Professor will be back by the time I get there--good-bye. "

She hurried out of the room before Mrs Winn could begin anothersentence; for long experience had taught her that the subject would notbe exhausted for a long while, and that a sudden departure was the onlyway of escape. 

A quarter of an hour's quick walk brought her to Number 4 Back Row, andlooking in at the sitting-room window, as her custom was, she saw thatthe Professor had indeed arrived before her. 

His dwelling was a contrast in every way to that of Mrs Winn. For onething, instead of standing boldly out before the world of Dornton HighStreet, it was smuggled away, with a row of little houses like itself, in a narrow sort of passage, enclosed between two wide streets. Thispassage ended in a blank wall, and was, besides, too narrow for any butfoot-passengers to pass up it, so that it would have been hard to find aquieter or more retired spot. The little, old houses in it were onlyone storey high, and very solidly built, with thick walls, and thewindows in deep recesses; before each a strip of garden, and a gravelwalk stretched down to a small gate. Back Row was the very oldest partof Dornton, and though the houses were small, they had always been livedin by respectable people, and preserved a certain air of gentility. 

Without waiting to knock, Delia hurried in at the door of Number 4, which led straight into the sitting-room. The Professor was leaningback in his easy-chair, his boots white with dust, and an expression offatigue and dejection over his whole person. 

"Oh, Professor, " was her first remark, as she threw down herviolin-case, "you _do_ look tired! Have you had your tea?"

"I believe, my dear, " he replied, rather faintly, "Mrs Cooper has notcome in yet. "

Mrs Cooper was a charwoman, who came in at uncertain intervals to cookthe Professor's meals and clean his rooms: as he was not exacting, theclaims of her other employers were always satisfied first, and if shewere at all busier than usual, he often got scanty attention. 

Without waiting to hear more, Delia made her way to the little kitchen, and set about her preparations in a very business-like manner. She wasevidently well acquainted with the resources of the household, for shebustled about, opening cupboards, and setting tea-things on a tray, asthough she were quite at home. In a wonderfully short time she hadprepared a tempting meal, and carried it into the sitting-room, so that, when the Professor came back from changing his boots, he foundeverything quite ready. His little round table, cleared of the litterof manuscripts and music-books, was drawn up to the open window, andcovered with a white cloth. On it there was some steaming coffee, eggs, and bread and butter, a bunch of roses in the middle, and his arm-chairplaced before it invitingly. 

He sank into it with a sigh of comfort and relief. 

"How very good your coffee smells, Delia!" he said; "quite differentfrom Mrs Cooper's. "

"I daresay, if the truth were known, " said Delia, carefully pouring itout, "that you had no dinner to speak of before you walked up to Pynesand back again. "

"I had a sandwich, " answered Mr Goodwin, meekly, for Delia was bendinga searching and severe look upon him. 

"Then Mrs Cooper didn't come!" she exclaimed. "Really we ought to lookout for some one else: I believe she does it on purpose. "

"Now I beg of you, Delia, " said the Professor, leaning forwardearnestly, "not to send Mrs Cooper away. She's a very poor woman, andwould miss the money. She told me only the last time she was here thatthe doctor had ordered cod-liver oil for the twins, and she couldn'tafford to give it them. "

"Oh, the twins!" said Delia, with a little scorn. 

"Well, my dear, she _has_ twins; she brought them here once in aperambulator. "

"But that's no reason at all she should not attend properly to you, "said Delia. 

Mr Goodwin put down his cup of coffee, which he had begun to drink withgreat relish, and looked thoroughly cast down. 

Delia laughed a little. 

"Well, I won't, then, " she said. "Mrs Cooper shall stay, and neglecther duties, and spoil your food as long as you like. "

"Thank you, my dear, " said the Professor, brightening up again, "shereally does extremely well, though, of course, she doesn't"--glancing atthe table--"make things look so nice as you do. "

Delia blamed herself for staying away so long, when she saw with whatcontented relish her old friend applied himself to the simple fare shehad prepared; it made her thoroughly ashamed to think that he shouldhave suffered neglect through her small feelings of jealousy and pride. He should not be left for a whole fortnight again to Mrs Cooper'stender mercies. 

"We are to have a lesson to-night, I hope, " said Mr Goodwin presently;"it must be a long time since we had one, Delia, isn't it?"

"A whole fortnight, " she answered, "but"--glancing wistfully at herviolin-case--"you've had such hard work to-day, I know, if you've beento Pynes; perhaps it would be better to put it off. "

But Mr Goodwin would not hear of this: it would refresh him; it wouldput the other lessons out of his head; they would try over the lastsonata he had given Delia to practise. 

"Did you make anything of it?" he asked. "It is rather difficult. "

Delia's face, which until now had been full of smiles and happiness, clouded over mournfully. 

"Oh, Professor, " she cried, "I'm in despair about my practising. If Icould get some more clear time to it, I know I could get on. But it'salways the same; the days get frittered up into tiny bits with thingswhich don't seem to matter, and I feel I don't make any way; just as Iam getting a hard passage right, I have to break off. "

This was evidently not a new complaint to Mr Goodwin. 

"Well, well, my dear, " he said, kindly, "we will try it over together, and see how we get on; I daresay it is better than you think. "

Delia quickly collected the tea-things and carried them into thekitchen, to prevent any chance of Mrs Cooper clattering and bangingabout the room during the lesson; then she took out her violin, put hermusic on the stand, and began to play, without more ado; the Professorleaning back in his chair meanwhile, with closed eyes, and ears on thealert to detect faults or passages wrongly rendered. As he sat there, perfectly still, a calm expression came into his face, which made himfor the time look much younger than was usually the case. He was not avery old man, but past troubles had left their traces in deep lines andwrinkles, and his hair was quite white; only his eyes preserved thatlook of eternal youth which is sometimes granted to those whose thoughtshave always been unselfish, kindly, and generous. Delia played on, halting a little over difficult passages, and as she played, theProfessor's face changed with the music, showing sometimes an agony ofanxiety during an intricate bit, and relaxing into a calm smile when shegot to smooth water again. 

Once, as though urged by some sudden impulse, he rose and began tostride up and down the room; but when she saw this, Delia dropped herbow, and said in a warning voice, "Now, Professor!" when he at onceresumed his seat, and waited patiently until she had finished. 

"It won't do, Delia, " he said; "you've got the idea, but you can't carryit out. "

"Oh, I know, " she replied, mournfully. "I know how bad it is, and theworst of it is, that I can hear how it ought to be all the time. "

"No, " he said, quickly, "that's not the worst of it; that's the best ofit. If you were satisfied with it as it is, you would be a hopelesspupil. But you've something of the true artist in you, Delia. The trueartist, you know, is never satisfied. "

"I believe, though, " said Delia, "that if I could shut myself up alonesomewhere for a time with my violin, and no one to disturb me, I shouldbe able to do something. I might not be satisfied, but oh, how happy Ishould be! As it is--"

"As it is, you must do as greater souls have done before you, " put inthe Professor--"win your way towards your ideal through troubles andhindrances. "

"I don't get far, though, " said Delia, mournfully. 

"Do you think you would get far by shutting yourself away from thecommon duties of your life?" said Mr Goodwin, in a kind voice. "It's avery poor sort of talent that wants petting and coaxing like that. Those great souls in the past who have taught us most, have done itwhile reaching painfully up to their vision through much that thwartedand baffled them. Their lives teach us as well as their art, andbelieve me, Delia, when the artist's life fails in duty and devotion, his art fails too in some way. "

"It is so hard to remember that all those dusty, little, everyday thingsmatter, " said Delia. 

"But if you think of what they stand for, they do matter very much. Call them self-discipline, and patience, and they are very important, above all, to an artist. I have heard people say, " continued MrGoodwin, reflectively, "that certain failings of temper and self-controlare to be excused in artists, because their natures are sensitive. Now, that seems to me the very reason that they should be better than otherpeople--more open to good influences. And I believe, when this has notbeen so, it has been owing rather to a smallness of character than totheir artistic temperament. "

Delia smiled. 

"I don't know, " she said, "if I have anything of an artist in me, but Ihave a small character, for I am always losing my temper--except when Iam with you, Professor. If I talked to you every day, and had plenty oftime to practise, I should have the good temper of an angel. "

"But not of a human being. That must come, not from outward thingsbeing pleasant, but from inward things being right. Believe an old man, my dear, who has had some trials and disappointments in his life, thebest sort of happiness is his--

 "Whose high endeavours are an inward light Which makes the path before him always bright. 

"Those endeavours may not bring fame or success, but they do bring lightto shine on all those everyday things you call dusty, and turn them togold. "

Delia stood by her music-stand, her eyes fixed with a far-away gaze onthe window, and a rebellious little frown on her brow. 

"But I should _love_ to be famous, " she suddenly exclaimed, reaching upher arms and clasping her hands behind her head. "Professor, I should_love_ it! Fancy being able to play so as to speak to thousands ofpeople, and make them hear what you say; to make them glad one momentand sorry the next; to have it in your power to move a whole crowd, assome musicians have! It must be a splendid life. Shouldn't _you_ likeit?"

Mr Goodwin's glance rested on his enthusiastic pupil with a littleamusement. 

"It's rather late in the day for me to consider the question, isn't it?"he said. 

"Didn't you ever want to go away from Dornton and play to people whounderstand what you mean, " asked Delia, impatiently. "Instead ofplaying the organ in Saint Mary's and teaching me, you might be a famousmusician in London, with crowds of people flocking to hear you. "

"Perhaps, " said the Professor, quietly; "who knows?"

"Then, " she continued, dropping her arms and turning to him with suddendetermination, "then, oh, Professor, why _didn't_ you go?"

The question had been in her mind a very long time: now it was out, andshe was almost frightened by her own rashness. Mr Goodwin, however, seemed neither surprised nor annoyed. 

"Well, Delia, " he answered, with a gentle shake of the head, "I supposetwo things have kept me in Dornton--two very strong things--poverty andpride. I had my chance once, but it came in a shape I couldn't bringmyself to accept. `There is a tide in the affairs of men, ' you know, and if one neglects it--"

He broke off and bent over his violin, which he had taken up from theground. 

"Of course, " said Delia, looking at him with great affection, "I'm gladyou didn't go, for my own sake. You and music make Dornton bearable. "

"You always speak so disdainfully of poor Dornton, " said Mr Goodwin, drawing his bow softly across his violin. "Now, I've known it longerthan you, and really, when I look back, I've been very happy. Dorntonhas given me the best any place has to give--people to love and carefor. After Prissy's marriage, there were some lonely days, to be sure. I could not feel very happy about that, for she seemed to be taken outof my life altogether, and there came sadder days still when she died. You were only a little toddling child then, Delia, and yet it seemed ashort while before we began to be friends; and"--holding out his hand toher--"we've been friends ever since, haven't we? So, you see, I oughtnot to be ungrateful to Dornton. "

"And now, " added Delia, with an effort, "there is Anna, your grandchild;perhaps you will make her famous, though you wouldn't be famousyourself. "

Mr Goodwin shook his head. 

"Anna will never be famous in that way, " he said. "She has a sweet, affectionate manner, but there's nothing that reminds me of her motherat all, or of our family. It's quite an effort to realise that she isPrissy's child. It's a very curious feeling. "

"Have you seen her often?" asked Delia. 

"Only twice. I don't at all suppose, as matters stand, that I shallever see much of her. I am so busy, you see, and she tells me her aunthas all sorts of plans for her--lessons, and so on. "

"But, " said Delia, rather indignantly, "she _ought_ to come and see youoften. "

"I shall not complain if she doesn't, and I shall not be surprised. There was a matter, years ago, in which I differed from Mrs Forrest, and I have never been to Waverley since: we are quite friendly when wemeet, but there can never be really cordial relations between us. "

"If I were Anna, " began Delia, impetuously--

"But you are _not_ Anna, " interrupted Mr Goodwin, with a smile; "youare Delia Hunt, and you are made of different materials. If I am notmistaken, Anna is affectionate and yielding, and will be influenced bythose she is with. And then she's very young, you see; she could notoppose her aunt and uncle, and I'm sure I do not wish it. I shall notinterfere with her life at Waverley: the Forrests are kind people, and Ifeel sure she will be very happy there. She will do very well withoutme. "

He turned towards his pupil and added, rather wistfully, "I should like_you_ to be friends with her, though, Delia; it would be a comfort tome. "

"Indeed, I will try my best, Professor, " she exclaimed, earnestly. Herjealousy of Anna seemed very small and mean, and she felt anxious toatone for it. 

"That's well, " said Mr Goodwin, with a contented air. "I know you willdo what you promise; and now it's my turn to play the sonata, and yoursto listen. "

As the first plaintive notes of the violin filled the little room, Deliathrew herself into the window-seat, leaned back her head, and gaveherself up to enjoyment. 

The Professor's playing meant many things to her. It meant a journeyinto another country where all good and noble things were possible;where vexations and petty cares could not enter, nor anything thatthwarted and baffled. It meant a sure refuge for a while from the smalldetails of her life in Dornton, which she sometimes found so wearisome. The warning tones of the church clock checked her flight through thesehappy regions, and brought her down to earth just as the Professor'slast note died away. 

"Oh, how late it is?" she exclaimed, as she started up and put on herhat. "Good-bye, Professor. Oh, if I could only make it speak likethat!"

"Patience, patience, " he said, with his kind smile; "we all hear and seebetter things than we can express, you know, but that will come to usall some day. "

CHAPTER FIVE. 

ANNA MAKES FRIENDS. 

 Sweet language will multiply friends; and a fair-speaking tongue will increase kind greetings. --_Ecclesiasticus_. 

Delia kept her promise in mind through all the various duties andoccupations of the next few days, and wondered how she should carry itout. She began, apart from the wish to please the Professor, to have agreat desire to know Anna for her own sake. Would they be friends? andwhat sort of girl was she? Mr Goodwin had told her so very little. Affectionate, sweet-tempered, yielding. She might be all that withoutbeing very interesting. Still she hoped they might be able to like eachother; for although the Hunts had a wide acquaintance, Delia had fewfriends of her own age, nor any one with whom she felt in entiresympathy, except the Professor. Delia was not popular in Dornton, andpeople regretted that such a "sweet" woman as Mrs Hunt should have adaughter who was often so blunt in her manners, and so indisposed tomake herself pleasant. Her life, therefore, though full of busymatters, was rather lonely, and she would have made it still more so, ifpossible, by shutting herself up with her violin and her books. Thebustling sociabilities of her home, however, prevented this, and she wasconstantly obliged, with inward revolt, to leave the things she lovedfor some social occasion, or to pick up the dropped stitches of MrsHunt's household affairs. 

There were endless little matters from morning till night for Delia toattend to, and it was only by getting up very early that she found anytime at all for her studies and her music. In winter this was hardwork, and progress with her violin almost impossible for stiff, coldfingers; but no one at her home took Delia's music seriously: it was anaccomplishment, a harmless amusement, but by no means to be allowed totake time from more important affairs. It did not matter whether shepractised or not, but it did matter that she should be ready to makecalls with her mother, or to carry soup to someone in Mrs Hunt'sdistrict who had been overlooked. She would have given up her musicaltogether if her courage had not been revived from time to time by MrGoodwin, and her ambition rekindled by hearing him play; as it was, shealways came back to it with fresh heart and hope after seeing him. 

For nearly a week after her last visit, Delia awoke every morning with adetermination to walk over to Waverley, and each day passed without herhaving done so. At last, however, chance arranged her meeting withAnna. Coming into the drawing-room one afternoon in search of hermother, she found, not Mrs Hunt, but a tall girl of fourteen, withlight yellow hair, sitting in the window, with a patient expression, asthough she had been waiting there some time. Delia advanceduncertainly: she knew who it was; there was only one stranger likely toappear just now. It must be Anna Forrest. But it was so odd to findher there, just when she had been thinking of her so much, that for amoment she hardly knew what to say. 

The girl, however, was quite at her ease. 

"I am Anna Forrest, " she said; "Mrs Hunt asked me to come in--she wentto find you. You are Delia, are you not?"

She had a bright, frank manner, with an entire absence of shyness, whichattracted Delia immediately. She found, on inquiry, that Mrs Hunt hadmet Anna in the town with her aunt, and had asked her to come in. MrsForrest had driven home, and Anna was to walk back after tea. 

"And have you been waiting long?" asked Delia. 

"It must have been an hour, I think, " said Anna, "because I heard thechurch clock. But it hasn't seemed long, " she added, hastily; "I'vebeen looking out at the pigeons in the garden. "

Delia felt no doubt whatever that Mrs Hunt had been called off in someother direction, and had completely forgotten her guest. However, herewas Anna at last. 

"Come up-stairs and take off your hat in my room, " she said. 

Delia's room was at the top of the house--a garret with a window lookingacross the red-tiled roofs of the town to the distant meadows, throughwhich glistened the crooked silver line of the river Dorn. She was fondof standing at this window in her few idle moments, with her armscrossed on the high ledge, and her gaze directed far-away: to it wereconfided all the hopes, and wishes, and dreams, which were, as a rule, carefully locked up in her own breast, and of which only one person inDornton even guessed the existence. 

Anna glanced curiously round as she entered. The room had rather a barelook, after the bright prettiness of Waverley, though it contained allDelia's most cherished possessions--a shelf of books, a battered oldbrown desk, her music-stand, and her violin. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, as her eye fell on the last, "can you play theviolin? Will you play to me?"

Delia hesitated: she was not fond of playing to people who did not carefor music, though she was often obliged to do so; but Anna pressed herso earnestly that she did not like to be ungracious, and, taking up herviolin, played a short German air, which she thought might please hervisitor. 

Anna meanwhile paid more attention to her new acquaintance than to herperformance, and looked at her with great interest. There was somethingabout Delia's short, compact figure; her firm chin; the crisp, wavy hairwhich rose from her broad, low forehead like a sort of halo, which gavean impression of strength and reliability not unmingled with self-will. This last quality, however, was not so marked while she was playing. Her face then was at its best, and its usual somewhat defiant airsoftened into a wistfulness which was almost beauty. Before the tunewas finished, Anna was quite ready to rush into a close friendship, ifDelia would respond to it, but of this she felt rather in doubt. 

"How beautifully you play!" she exclaimed, as Delia dropped her bow, andshut up her music-book. 

A very little smile curled Delia's lips. 

"That shows one thing, " she answered, "you don't know much about music, or you would not call my playing beautiful. "

"Well, it sounds so to me, " said Anna, a little abashed by thisdirectness of speech, "but I certainly don't know much about music; AuntSarah says I need not go on with it while I am here. "

"I play very badly, " said Delia; "if you wish to hear beautiful playing, you must listen to your grandfather. "

"Must I?" said Anna, vaguely. "I thought, " she added, "that he playedthe organ in Dornton church. "

"So he does, " said Delia, "but he plays the violin too. And he giveslessons. He taught me. "

She looked searchingly at her companion, whose fair face reddened alittle. 

"I owe everything to him, " continued Delia; "without what he has donefor me my life would be dark. He brought light into it when he taughtme to play and to love music. "

"Did he?" said Anna, wonderingly. 

She began to feel that she did not understand Delia; she was speaking astrange language, which evidently meant something to her, for her eyessparkled, and her brown cheek glowed with excitement. 

"We ought to be proud in Dornton, " Delia went on, "to have yourgrandfather living here, but we're not worthy of him. His genius wouldplace him in a high position among people who could understand him. Here it's just taken for granted. "

Anna grew more puzzled and surprised still. Delia's tone upset the ideashe began to have that her grandfather was a person to be pitied. Thiswas a different way of speaking of him, and it was impossible to getused to it all at once. At Waverley he was hardly mentioned at all, andshe had come to avoid doing so also, from a feeling that her auntdisliked it. She could not suddenly bring herself to look upon him as agenius, and be proud of him, though she had every wish to please Delia. 

"What a pity, " she said, hesitatingly, "that he is so poor, and has tolive in such a very little house, if he is so clever!"

"Poor?" exclaimed Delia, indignantly; then, checking herself, she added, quietly, "It depends on what you call poor. What the Professorpossesses is worth all the silver and gold and big houses in the world. And that's just what the Dornton people don't understand. Why, the richones actually _patronise_ him, and think he is fortunate in giving theirchildren music-lessons. "

Delia began to look so wrathful as she went on, that Anna longed tochange the subject to one which might be more soothing. She could notat all understand why her companion was so angry. It was certainly apity that Mr Goodwin was obliged to give lessons, but if he must, itwas surely a good thing that people were willing to employ him. Whileshe was pondering this in silence, she was relieved by a welcomeproposal from Delia that they should go down-stairs, and have tea in thegarden. "Afterwards, " she added, "I will show you the way to Waverleyover the fields. "

In the garden it was pleasant and peaceful enough. Tea was ready, underthe shade of the medlar tree. The pigeons whirled and fluttered aboutover the red roofs all around, settling sometimes on the lawn for a fewmoments, bowing and cooing to each other. Mrs Hunt, meanwhile, chattedon in a comfortable way, hardly settling longer on one spot in her talkthan the pigeons; from the affairs of her district to the affairs of thenation, from an anecdote about the rector to a receipt for scones, sherambled gently on; but at last coming to a favourite topic, she made alonger rest. Anna was glad of it, for it dealt with people of whom shehad been wishing to hear--her mother and her grandfather. Mrs Hunt hadmuch to tell of the former, whom she had known from the time when shehad been a girl of Anna's age until her marriage with Mr BernardForrest. She became quite enthusiastic as one recollection after theother followed. 

"A sweeter face and a sweeter character than Prissy Goodwin's could notbe imagined, " she said. "We were all sorry when she left Dornton, andevery one felt for Mr Goodwin. Poor man, he's aged a great deal duringthe last few years. I remember him as upright as a dart, and always insuch good spirits!"

"I have a portrait of my mother, " said Anna, "a miniature, painted justafter her marriage. It's very pretty indeed. "

"It should be, if it's a good likeness, " said Mrs Hunt. "There's neverbeen such a pretty girl in Dornton since your mother went away. Ishould like to see that portrait. When you come over again, which Ihope will be soon, you must bring it with you, and then we will havesome more talk about your dear mother. "

Anna readily promised, and as she walked up the High Street by Delia'sside, her mind was full of all that she had heard that afternoon. Ithad interested and pleased her very much, but somehow it was difficultto connect Mr Goodwin and his dusty, little house with the pictureformed in her mind of her beautiful mother. If only she were alive now!

"I suppose you were a baby when my mother married, " she said, suddenlyturning to her companion. 

"I was two years old, " replied Delia, smiling, "but though I can'tremember your mother, I can remember your grandfather when I was quite alittle girl. He was always so good to me. Long before he began toteach me to play, I used to toddle by his side to church, and wait therewhile he practised on the organ. I think it was that which made mefirst love music. "

"It seems so odd, " said Anna, hesitatingly, "that I should be hisgrandchild, and yet that he should be almost a stranger to me; whileyou--"

"But, " put in Delia, quickly, for she thought that Anna was naturallyfeeling jealous, "you won't be strangers long now; you will come overoften, and soon you will feel as though you'd known him always. To tellyou the truth, " she added, lightly, "I felt dreadfully jealous of youwhen I first heard you were coming. "

Jealous! How strange that sounded to Anna; she glanced quickly at hercompanion, and saw that she was evidently in earnest. 

"I don't know, I'm sure, about coming to Dornton often, " she said, "because, you see, Aunt Sarah is so tremendously busy, and she likes todo certain things on certain days; but, of course, I shall come as oftenas I can. I do hope, " she added, earnestly, "I shall be able to see yousometimes, and that you will often come over to Waverley. "

Delia was silent. 

"You see, " continued Anna, "I like being at Waverley very much, andthey're very kind indeed; but it _is_ a little lonely, and if you don'tmind, I should be _so_ glad to have you for a friend. "

She turned to her companion with a bright blush, and an appealing lookthat was almost humble. Delia was touched. She had begun to think Annarather cold and indifferent in the way she had talked about coming toDornton; but, after all, it was unreasonable to expect her to feel warmaffection for a grandfather who was almost a stranger. When she knewhim she would not be able to help loving him, and, meanwhile, sheherself must not forget that she had promised the Professor to be Anna'sfriend; no doubt she had said truly that, she was lonely at Waverley. She met Anna's advances cordially, therefore, and by the time they hadturned off the high-road into the fields, the two girls were chattinggaily, and quite at their ease with each other. Everything in thisfield-walk was new and delightful to Anna, and her pleasure increased byfeeling that she had made a friend of her own age. The commonestwild-flowers on her path were wonderful to her unaccustomed eyes. Deliamust tell their names. She must stop to pick some. They were prettiereven than Aunt Sarah's flowers at Waverley. What were those growing inthe hedge? She ran about admiring and exclaiming until, near the end ofthe last field, the outbuildings of Leas Farm came in sight, which stoodin a lane dividing the farmer's property from Mr Forrest's. 

"There's Mr Oswald, " said Delia, suddenly. 

Anna looked up. Across the field towards them, mounted on a stout, greycob, came the farmer at a slow jog-trot. So much had happened since herarrival at Waverley, that she had now almost forgotten the events ofthat first evening, and all idea of telling her aunt of her acquaintancewith Mr Oswald had passed from her mind. As he stopped to greet thegirls, however, and make a few leisurely remarks about the weather, itall came freshly to her memory. 

"Not been over to see my cows yet, missie, " he said, checking his ponyagain, after he had started, and leaning back in his saddle. "MyDaisy's been looking for you every day. You'd be more welcome thanever, now I know who 'twas I had the pleasure of driving the other day--for your mother's sake, as well as your own. "

Delia turned an inquiring glance on her companion, as they continuedtheir way. Would she say anything? Recollecting Mrs Winn's story, sherather hoped she would. But Anna, her gay spirits quite checked, walkedsoberly on in perfect silence. It made her uncomfortable to rememberthat she had never undeceived Aunt Sarah about that fly. What a stupidlittle mistake it had been! Nothing wrong in what she had done at all, if she had only been quite open about it. What would Delia think of it, she wondered. She glanced sideways at her. What a very firm, decidedmouth and chin she had: she looked as though she were never afraid ofanything, and always quite sure to do right. Perhaps, if she knew ofthis, she would look as scornful and angry as she had that afternoon, inspeaking of the Dornton people. That would be dreadful. Anna could notrisk that. She wanted Delia to like and admire her very much, and on noaccount to think badly of her. So she checked the faint impulse she hadhad towards the confession of her foolishness, and was almost relievedwhen they reached the point where Delia was to turn back to Dornton. They parted affectionately, with many hopes and promises as to theirmeeting again soon, and Anna stood at the white gate watching her newfriend until she was out of sight. 

Then she looked round her. She was in quite a strange land, foralthough she had now been some weeks at Waverley, she had not yetexplored the fields between the village and Dornton. On her right, alittle way down the grassy lane, stood Mr Oswald's house, a solid, square building, of old, red brick, pleasantly surrounded by barns, cattle-sheds, and outbuildings, all of a substantial, prosperousappearance. It crossed Anna's mind that she should very much like tosee the farmer's cows, as he had proposed, but she had not the courageto present herself at the house and ask for Daisy. She must contentherself by looking in at the farmyard gate as she passed it. A littlefarther on, Delia had pointed out another gate, on the other side of thelane, which led straight into the Vicarage field, and towards this shenow made her way. 

She was unusually thoughtful as she sauntered slowly down the lane, forher visit to Dornton had brought back thoughts of her mother andgrandfather, which had lately been kept in the background. She hadto-day heard them spoken of with affection and admiration, instead ofbeing passed over in silence. Waverley was very pleasant. Aunt Sarahwas kind, and her Uncle John indulgent, but about her relations inDornton there was scarcely a word spoken. It was strange. Sheremembered Delia's sparkling eyes as she talked of Mr Goodwin. Thatwas stranger still. In the two visits Anna had paid to him, she had notdiscovered much to admire, and she had not been pleased with theappearance of Number 4 Back Row. It had seemed to her then that peoplecalled him "poor Mr Goodwin" with reason: he was poor, evidently, or hewould not live all alone in such a very little house, with no servants, and work so hard, and get so tired and dusty as he had looked on thatfirst evening she had seen him. Yet, perhaps, when she knew him as wellas Delia did, she should be able to feel proud of him; and, at any rate, he stood in need of love and attention. 

She felt drawn to the Hunts and the Dornton people, who had known andloved her mother, and she resolved to make more efforts to go therefrequently, and to risk displeasing Aunt Sarah and upsetting herarrangements. It would be very disagreeable, for she knew well thatneither Mr Goodwin nor Dornton were favourite subjects at Waverley; andwhen things were going smoothly and pleasantly, it was so much nicer toleave them alone. However, she would try, and just then arriving at thefarmyard gate, she dismissed those tiresome thoughts, and leaned over tolook with great interest at the creatures within. As she did so, alittle girl came out of the farmhouse and came slowly down the lanetowards her. She was about twelve years old, very childish-looking forher age, and dressed in a fresh, yellow cotton frock, nearly covered bya big, white pinafore. Her little, round head was bare, and her blackhair closely cropped like a boy's. She came on with very careful steps, her whole attention fixed on a plate she held firmly with both hands, which had a mug on it full of something she was evidently afraid tospill. Her eyes were so closely bent on this, that until she was nearAnna she did not see her; and then, with a start, she came suddenly to astand-still, not forgetting to preserve the balance of the mug andplate. It was a very nice, open, little face she raised towards Anna, with a childish and innocent expression, peppered thickly with freckleslike a bird's egg, especially over the blunt, round nose. 

"Did you come from the Vicarage?" she inquired, gravely. 

"I'm staying there, " replied Anna, "but I came over the fields just nowfrom Dornton. "

"Those are puppa's fields, " said the child, "and this is puppa's farm. "

"You are Daisy Oswald, I suppose?" said Anna. "Your father asked me tocome and see your cows. " The little girl nodded. 

"I know what your name is, " she said. "You're Miss Anna Forrest. Puppafetched you over from the station. You came quick. Puppa was drivingStrawberry Molly that day. No one can do it as quick as her. " Then, with a critical glance, "I can ride her. Can you ride?"

"No, indeed, I can't, " replied Anna. "But won't you show me your cows?"

"Why, it isn't milking-time!" said Daisy, lifting her brows with alittle surprise; "they're all out in the field. " She considered Annathoughtfully for a moment, and then added, jerking her head towards thenext gate, "Won't you come and sit on that gate? I often sit on thatgate. Most every evening. "

The invitation was made with so much friendliness that Anna could notrefuse it. 

"I can't stay long, " she said, "but I don't mind a little while. "

Arrived at the gate, Daisy pushed mug and plate into Anna's hands. 

"Hold 'em a minute, " she said, as she climbed nimbly up and disposedherself comfortably on the top bar. "Now"--smoothing her pinaforetightly over her knees--"give 'em to me, and come up and sit alongside, and we'll have 'em together. That'll be fine. "

Anna was by no means so active and neat in her movements as hercompanion, for she was not used to climbing gates; but after somestruggles, watched by Daisy with a chuckle of amusement, she succeededin placing herself at her side. In this position they sat facing theVicarage garden at the end of the field. It looked quite near, and Annahoped that Aunt Sarah might not happen to come this way just at present. 

"How nice it is to sit on a gate!" she said; "I never climbed a gatebefore. "

Daisy stared. 

"Never climbed a gate before!" she repeated; "why ever not?"

"Well, you see, I've always lived in a town, " said Anna, "where youdon't need to climb gates. "

Daisy nodded. 

"I know, " she said, "like Dornton. Now there's two lots of bread andbutter, one for me and one for you, and we must take turns to drink. You first. "

"But I've had tea, thank you, " said Anna. "I won't take any of yours. "

Daisy looked a little cast down at this refusal, but soon set to workheartily on her simple meal alone, stopping in the intervals of herbites and sups to ask and answer questions. 

"Was the town you lived in _nicer_ than Dornton?" she asked. 

"It was not a bit like it, " replied Anna. "Much, much larger. Andalways full of carts, and carriages, and people. "

"My!" exclaimed Daisy. "Any shops?"

"Lots and lots. And at night, when they were all lighted up, and thelamps in the streets too, it was as light as day. "

"That must have been fine, " said Daisy, "I like shops. Were you sorryto come away?"

Anna shook her head. 

"Do you like being at Waverley?" pursued the inquiring Daisy, tilting upthe mug so that her brown eyes came just above the rim; "there's no oneto play with there, but I s'pose you don't mind. I haven't any brothersand sisters either. There's only me. But then there's all the animals. Do you like animals?"

"I think I should very much, " answered Anna, "but you can't have manyanimals in London. "

"Well, " said Daisy, who had now finished the last crumb of bread and thelast drop of milk, "if you like, I'll show you my very own calf!"

"I'm afraid it's getting late, " said Anna, hesitatingly. 

"'Twon't take you not five minutes altogether, " said Daisy, scramblinghastily down from the gate. "Come along. "

Anna followed her back to the farmyard, where she pushed open the doorof a shed, and beckoned her companion in. All was dim and shadowy, andthere was a smell of new milk and hay. At first Anna could see nothing, but soon she made out, penned into a corner, a little, brown calf, witha white star on its forehead; it turned its dewy, dark eyesreproachfully upon them as they entered. 

"You can stroke its nose, " said its owner, patronisingly. 

"Shall you call it Daisy?" asked Anna, reaching over the hurdles to patthe soft, velvety muzzle. 

"Mother says we mustn't have no more Daisies, " said its mistress, shaking her little, round head gravely. "You see puppa called all thecows Daisy, after me, for ever so long. There was Old Daisy, and YoungDaisy, and Red Daisy, and White Daisy, and Big Daisy, and Little Daisy, and a whole lot more. So this one is to be called something different. Mother say Stars would be best. "

As she spoke, a distant clock began to tell out the hour. Anna countedthe strokes with anxiety. Actually seven! The dinner hour at Waverley, and whatever haste she made, she must be terribly late. 

"Ah, I must go, " she said, "I ought not to have stayed so long. Good-bye. Thank you. "

"Come over again, " said Daisy, calling after her as she ran to the gate. "Come at milking-time, and I'll show you all the lot. "

Anna nodded and smiled, and ran off as fast as she could. This was herfirst transgression at the Vicarage. What would Aunt Sarah say?

CHAPTER SIX. 

DIFFICULTIES. 

 No man can serve two masters. 

Anna found her life at Waverley bright and pleasant as the time went on, in spite of Aunt Sarah's strict rules and regulations. There was onlyone matter which did not become easy, and that was her neareracquaintance with her grandfather. Somehow, when she asked to go toDornton, there was always a difficulty of some kind--Mrs Forrest couldnot spare the time to go with her, or the pony-cart to take her, or amaid to walk so far, and she must not go alone. At first, mindful ofher resolves, she made efforts to overcome those objections, but beingalways repulsed, she soon ceased them, and found it easier and far morepleasant to leave her aunt to arrange the visits herself. 

In this way they became very rare, and when they did take place, theywere not very satisfactory, for Anna and her grandfather were seldomleft alone. She did not, therefore, grow to be any fonder of Back Row, or to associate her visits there with anything pleasant. Indeed, few asthey were, she soon began to find them rather irksome, and to berelieved when they were over. This was the only subject on which shewas not perfectly confidential to her new friend, Delia, who was now herconstant companion, for although Anna went very seldom to Dornton, MrsForrest made no objection to their meeting often elsewhere. 

So Delia would run over to the Vicarage whenever she could spare time, or join Anna in long country rambles, and on these occasions it was shewho listened, and Anna who did most of the talking. Delia heard allabout her life in London, and how much better she liked the country; allabout Aunt Sarah's punctuality, and how difficult it was to go toDornton; but about the Professor she heard very little. Always on thelookout for slights on his behalf, and jealous for his dignity, she soonbegan to feel a little sore on his account, and to have a suspicion thatAnna's heart was not in the matter. For her own part, she knew that notall the aunts and rules in the world would have kept her from paying himthe attention that was his due. As the visits became fewer this feelingincreased, and sometimes gave a severity to her manner which Anna foundhard to bear, and it finally led to their first disagreement. 

"Can you come over to church at Dornton with me this evening?" askedDelia one afternoon, as she and Anna met at the stile half-way acrossthe fields. 

"I should like to, " said Anna, readily, "very much indeed, if Aunt Sarahdoesn't mind. "

"I'll walk back with you as far as this afterwards, " said Delia. "Youwould see your grandfather. You've never heard him play the organ yet. "

"I don't _suppose_ aunt would mind, " said Anna, hesitatingly, her fairface flushing a little. 

"Well, " said Delia, "you can run back and ask her. I'll wait for youhere. You will just have time. "

The bells of Saint Mary's church began to sound as she spoke. 

"Only you must go at once, " she added, "or we shall be too late. "

Still Anna hesitated. She hated the idea of asking Aunt Sarah, andseeing her mouth stiffen into that hard line which was so disagreeable;but it was almost as bad to face Delia, standing there, bolt upright, with her dark eyes fixed so unflinchingly upon her. 

"I know, " she said, appealingly, "that Aunt Sarah _has_ arranged for meto go to Dornton next week. "

"Oh, " said Delia, coldly. 

"And, " pursued Anna, turning away from her companion and stooping topick a flower, "she does like me, you know, to go to the service atWaverley with her. She says uncle prefers it. "

Delia's glance rested for a moment in silence on the bending figure, with the pale yellow hair outspread on the shoulders gleaming in thesunshine; then she said in rather a hard voice:

"The fact is, I suppose, you don't _want_ to go. If so, you had betterhave said so at first. "

Anna rose quickly, and faced her friend:

"It's unkind, Delia, " she exclaimed, "to say that. I _do_ want to go. You know I like to be with you--and I should like to go to Dorntonchurch much better than Waverley. "

"Then why don't you ask Mrs Forrest?" said Delia, calmly. "She can'tmind your going if I walk back with you. It's worth the trouble, if youwant to see your grandfather. "

Anna cast down her eyes and fidgeted with the flowers in her belt. 

"You don't understand, " she began, rather nervously, "how difficult itis to ask Aunt Sarah some things--"

"But this is quite a right, reasonable thing, " interrupted Delia;"there's nothing wrong in wishing to see your grandfather sometimes. Ofcourse, if you never ask Mrs Forrest, she thinks you don't care aboutit. "

"I do ask, " said Anna. "I have often asked; but, you know I told you, Delia, Aunt Sarah never likes me to go to Dornton. "

"Then you mean to give it up, I suppose, " said Delia, coldly. 

"If I'm staying with Aunt Sarah, I suppose I ought to do as she wishes, "said Anna; "but, of course, I shan't give it up entirely. She doesn'twish me to do that. "

Delia stood for a moment in silence, her eyes fixed on Anna's pretty, downcast face. The sound of the church bells came softly to them overthe fields from Dornton, and "Well, " she said, with a little sigh, "Imustn't stay, or I shall be late, and I promised to meet the Professorafter church. He half expects to see you with me. What shall I say tohim?"

"Oh, Delia!" cried Anna, looking up into her companion's face, "I _do_wish I could go with you. "

"It's too late now, " said Delia, turning away. "Good-bye. "

Anna lingered at the stile. Would not Delia turn round once and nodkindly to her, as she always did when they parted? No. Her compactfigure went steadily on its way, the shoulders very square, the headheld high and defiantly. Anna could not bear it. She jumped over thestile and ran after her friend. "Delia!" she called out. Delia turnedand waited. "Don't be cross with me, " pleaded Anna. "After all, itisn't my fault; and I _should_ like to go with you so much. And--andgive my love to grandfather, please. I'm going to see him next week. "

She took hold of Delia's reluctant hand and kissed her cheek. Deliaallowed the embrace, but did not return it. Her heart was hot withinher. Mrs Winn had said that Anna was not straightforward. Was ittrue?

Anna had not much time for any sort of reflection, for she had to getback to Waverley as fast as she could, and, in spite of her haste, thebell stopped just as she reached the garden gate, and she knew that heraunt would have started for church without her. It was barely fiveminutes' walk, but she had to smooth her hair, and find some gloves, andmake herself fit for Mrs Forrest's critical eye, and all this took sometime. When she pushed open the heavy door and entered timidly, herfootfall sounding unnaturally loud, the usual sprinkling of eveningworshippers was already collected, and her uncle had begun to read theservice. Anna crept into a seat. She knew that she had committed avery grave fault in Mrs Forrest's sight, and she half wished that shehad made up her mind to go to Dornton with Delia. She wanted to pleaseevery one, and she had pleased no one; it was very hard. As she walkedback to the Vicarage with her aunt after service, she was quite preparedfor the grave voice in which she began to speak. 

"How was it you were late this evening, Anna?"

"I'm very sorry, aunt, " she answered. "I was talking to Delia Hunt inthe field, and until we heard the bell, we didn't know how late it was. "

"If you must be unpunctual at all, " said Mrs Forrest--"and I supposeyoung people will be thoughtless sometimes--I must beg that you will atleast be careful not to let it occur at church time. Nothing displeasesyour uncle more than the irreverence of coming in late as you didto-day. It is a bad example to the whole village, besides being verywrong in itself. As a whole, " she continued, after a pause, "I havevery little fault to find with your behaviour; you try to please me, Ithink, in every respect, but in this matter of punctuality, Anna, thereis room for improvement. Now, you were a quarter of an hour late fordinner one night. You had been with Delia Hunt then too. I begin tothink you run about too much with her: it seems to make you forgetfuland careless. "

"But, " said Anna, impulsively, "my being late had nothing at all to dowith Delia this time. I was with Daisy Oswald. "

"Daisy Oswald!" repeated Mrs Forrest, in a tone of surprise. "When didyou make Daisy Oswald's acquaintance?"

She turned sharply to her niece with a searching glance. Anna blushedand hesitated a little. 

"I--we--Delia and I met her father as we were walking home from Dornton. He asked me to go and see his cows; and then, after Delia had left me, I met his little girl in the lane just near the farm. "

Mrs Forrest was silent. She could not exactly say that there wasanything wrong in all this, but she highly disapproved of it. It wasmost undesirable that her niece should be running about the fields andlanes, and picking up acquaintances in this way. Daisy Oswald was avery nice little girl, and there was no harm done at present, but itmust not continue. The thing to do, she silently concluded, was toprovide Anna with suitable occupations and companions which would makeso much liberty impossible for the future. 

To her relief, Anna heard no more of the matter, but it was easy to seethat Aunt Sarah had not liked the idea of her being with Daisy. It wasuncomfortable to remember that she had not been quite open about it. Somehow, since that first foolish concealment, she had constantly beenforced into little crooked paths where she could not walk quitestraight, but she consoled herself by the reflection that she had nottold any untruth. 

A few days later Mrs Forrest, returning from a drive with her face fullof satisfaction, called Anna to her in her sitting-room. She had beenable, she said, to make a very nice arrangement for her to have somelessons in German and French with the Palmers. Miss Wilson, theirgoverness, had been most kind about it, and it was settled that Annashould go to Pynes twice every week for a couple of hours. 

"It will be an immense advantage to you, " concluded Mrs Forrest, "tolearn with other girls, and I hope, beside the interest of the lessons, that you will make friendships which will be both useful and pleasant. Isabel Palmer is about your own age, and her sister a little older. They will be nice companions for you, and I hope you will see a gooddeal of them. "

From this time Anna's life was very much altered. Gradually, as herinterests and amusements became connected with the Palmers and all thatwent on at their house, she saw less and less of Delia, and it was nowMrs Forrest who had to remind her when a visit to Dornton was due. There were no more country rambles, or meetings at the stile, and nomore confidential chats. Anna had other matters to attend to, and ifshe were not occupied with lessons, there was always some engagement atPynes which must be kept. And yet, she often thought, with a regretfulsigh, there was really no one like Delia! Isabel Palmer was verypleasant, and there was a great deal she enjoyed very much at Pynes, butin her heart she remained true to her first friend. If only it had beenpossible to please every one! If only Delia would be kind and agreeablewhen they did meet, instead of looking so cold and proud! By degreesAnna grew to dread seeing her, instead of looking forward to it as oneof her greatest pleasures at Waverley. Everything connected with Pynes, on the contrary, was made so easy and pleasant. Aunt Sarah's lips neverlooked straight and thin when she asked to go there, and Isabel Palmerwas sure of a welcome at any time. The pony-cart could nearly always behad if it were wanted in that direction, though it seemed soinconvenient for it to take the road to Dornton. And then, with thePalmers there was no chance of severe looks on the subject of MrGoodwin. Did they know, Anna wondered, that he was her grandfather?Perhaps not, for they had lived at Pynes only a short time. There wasno risk of meeting him there, for Saturday, when he gave Clara amusic-lesson, was a specially busy day with Mrs Forrest, and she alwayswanted Anna at the Vicarage. 

It was strange that Anna should have come to calling it a "risk" to meether grandfather, but it was true. Not all at once, but little bylittle, since her separation from Delia, the habit of dismissing himfrom her thoughts, as well as keeping silence about him, had grownstrong within her. At first Delia's scornful face often seemed to flashbefore her in the midst of some gaiety or enjoyment. "You are notworthy of him, " it seemed to say. But it had been so often driven awaythat it now came very seldom, and when it did, it looked so pale andshadowy that it had no reality about it. Anna threw herself into theamusements which her new friends put in her way, and determined to behappy in spite of uncomfortable recollections. 

On her side, Delia had now come to the swift decision natural to her ageand character. Anna was unworthy. She had been tried and foundwanting. Gold had been offered to her, and she had chosen tinsel. Itwas not surprising that the Palmers should be preferred to herself, butthat any one related to the Professor, able to see and know him, shouldbe capable of turning aside and neglecting him for others, was a thingshe could neither understand nor bear with patience. She ceased tospeak of it when she met Anna, and preserved a haughty silence on thesubject, but her manner and looks expressed disapproval plainly enough. The disapproval grew stronger as time went on, for although no word ofcomplaint ever passed Mr Goodwin's lips, Delia soon felt sure that helonged to see more of his grandchild. They often talked of Anna, theProfessor listening eagerly to any news of her or account of her doings. No hint of disappointment was ever given, but affection has quickinstincts, and Delia was able to understand her old friend's silence aswell as his speech. She ran in to Number 4 Back Row one afternoon, andfound him looking rather uncertainly and nervously at his tea-table, which Mrs Cooper had just prepared in her usual hurried manner--slapping down the cups and plates with a sort of spiteful emphasis, andleaving the cloth awry. He looked relieved to see Delia. 

"You would perhaps put things a little straight, and make it looknicer, " he said. "I don't know how it is, but Mrs Cooper seems tospoil the look of things so. "

"You expect a visitor?" said Delia, as she began to alter thearrangement of the little meal, and noticed two cups and plates. 

"Yes, " said the Professor, half shyly. "I got some water-cresses andsome fresh eggs. And that kind Mrs Winn sent me some trout thismorning. Mrs Cooper promised to come in presently and cook them. "

Delia observed that the room had quite a holiday air of neatness. Therewas no dust to be seen anywhere, and a special, high-backed arm-chair, which was not in general use, was now drawn up to one side of thetea-table. 

"That was Prissy's chair, " he continued, looking at it affectionately;"she always sat there, and I thought I should like to see Anna in it. "

"Oh, is Anna coming to tea with you?" exclaimed Delia. "I _am_ glad. Is she coming alone?"

The Professor nodded. There was a faint pink flush of excitement on hischeek. His hand trembled a little as he touched the bunch of mignonettewhich he had put on the table. 

"My flowers never do very well, " he said, trying to speak in an off-handtone; "they don't get enough sun. And then, the other day I had to pourmy coffee out of the window, and I forgot that the border was justunderneath. I daresay it didn't agree with them. "

"I suppose Mrs Cooper made it so badly that even you could not drinkit?" said Delia; "but it's certainly hard that she should poison yourflowers as well. Why don't you tell her about it?"

"Oh, she does her best, she does her best, " said the Professor, quickly;"I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world. "

"Well, she won't improve at that rate, " said Delia; "it's a good thingevery one is not so patient as you are. Now"--surveying herarrangements--"I think it all looks very nice, and as I go home I'llcall in at Mrs Cooper's and remind her about the fish. Perhaps I shallhave time to bring you a few more flowers before Anna comes. "

Quite excited at the idea of the Professor's pleasure at having Anna allto himself for a little while, she quickly performed her errands, andfinally left him in a state of complete preparation, with roses upon histable, and the trout cooking in the kitchen; he himself, stationed atthe window, meanwhile pulling his watch out of his pocket every two orthree minutes to see if it were time for his guest to arrive. 

During the week which followed, Delia thought more kindly of Anna thanshe had done for some time past. Perhaps, after all, she had judged hertoo hastily; perhaps she had been hard and unjust; very likely thismeeting would be the beginning of a happier state of things between MrGoodwin and his grandchild. 

"Did you have a pleasant evening on Saturday?" she asked, when they nextmet. 

Anna was sitting in the Palmers' pony-cart, outside a shop in the town, waiting for Isabel: she blushed brightly when she saw Delia, and lookedrather puzzled at her question. 

"Where?" she said, vaguely. "Oh, I remember. I was to have had teawith grandfather, but aunt made another engagement for me, and I didn'tgo. "

Delia's face clouded over with the disapproving expression Anna knew sowell. 

"He didn't mind a bit, " she said, leaning forward and speakingearnestly. "He said another evening would do just as well for him. "

"I daresay he did, " replied Delia, coldly. 

"And, you see, it was a cricket match at Holmbury, " Anna continued, inan apologetic voice; "such a lovely place! and the Palmers offered todrive me, and another day wouldn't have done for that, and Aunt Sarahthought--"

"Oh, naturally, " said Delia, lightly, "the cricket match was far moreimportant. And, of course, the Professor wouldn't mind. Why shouldhe?"

She nodded and passed on, just as Isabel came out of the shop. 

"Wasn't that Delia Hunt?" said Isabel, as she got into the pony-cart;"what is the matter? Her face looked like the sky when thunder iscoming. "

Delia felt as she looked, as though a storm were rising within her. Shethought of the Professor's little feast prepared so carefully, theflowers, the high-backed chair standing ready for the guest who nevercame. She could not bear to imagine his disappointment. How could Annabe so blind, so insensible? All her hard feelings towards her returned, and they were the more intense because she could speak of them to noone--a storm without the relief of thunder. She had a half-dread of hernext meeting with Mr Goodwin, for with this resentment in her heart itwould be difficult to talk about Anna with patience, and yet the meetingmust come very soon. 

The next day was Wednesday, on which evening it was his custom to stayin the church after service and play the organ for some time. Delia, who was generally his only listener, would wait for him, and they wouldeither stroll home together, or, if it were warm weather, sit for alittle while under a certain tree near the church. They both lookedforward to those meetings, but this week, when the time came, and Deliamounted the steep street which led up to the church, she almost wishedthat the Professor might not be there. 

Dornton church was perched upon a little hill, so that, though it was inthe town, it stood high above it, and its tall, grey spire made alandmark for miles round. The churchyard, carefully planted withflowers, and kept in good order, sloped sharply down to old gabledhouses on one side, and on the other to open meadows, across which thetower of Waverley church could be just seen amongst the trees. On thisside a wooden bench, shadowed by a great ash, had been let into the lowwall, and it was to this that Delia and the Professor were in the habitof repairing after the Wednesday evening services. 

Mr Goodwin's music had always power to soothe Delia, and to raise herthoughts above her daily troubles; but to-night, as she sat listening tohim in the empty church, she felt even more than usual as if a mightyand comforting voice were speaking to her. As long as the resoundingnotes of the organ continued, she forgot the little bustle of Dornton, and her anger against Anna, and even when the Professor had finished andjoined her in the porch, the calming influence remained. 

"Can you stay a little this evening?" he asked, as they walked throughthe churchyard together; "if you can spare time I should like a talk. It's about Anna, " he continued, when they were seated under theflickering shadow of the ash tree; "I didn't see her the other evening, after all--"

"So I heard, " said Delia. 

"No--I didn't see her, " repeated Mr Goodwin, poking the groundreflectively with his stick. "She went to some cricket match with herfriends; she's to come to me another time. It's very kind of MrsPalmer to give her so much pleasure. I suppose Anna enjoys it verymuch? I hear of her going about with them a good deal. "

"I think she does, " said Delia. 

"It's always such a comfort to me, " he continued, his kind eyes beamingupon his companion from beneath the brim of his wide-awake, "to thinkthat you are her friend. I don't see much of her. I told you I shouldnot be able to, when she first came, but the next best thing is to knowthat you do. "

Delia was silent. She did not meet his glance, but pressed her lipstogether and frowned a little. 

"Anna wants a friend, " pursued the Professor, thoughtfully. "Little asI see of her, I can tell that. She has the sort of nature which dependsgreatly on influence--every one does, I suppose, but some of us canstand alone better than others. "

"Anna seems to get on very well, " said Delia. "People always like her. "

"Yes, yes, yes, " said the Professor, nodding his head gently, "so Ishould think--so I should think. But when I say a `friend, ' Delia, Idon't mean that sort of thing; I mean some one who's willing to take alittle trouble. "

"I don't see how you can be a friend to a person that doesn't want you, "said Delia, impatiently. "If Anna wanted me--"

"You're not displeased with her about anything, I hope?" said theProfessor, anxiously; "she has not offended you?"

Delia hesitated. She could not bear to disappoint him, as he waitedeagerly for her answer. 

"The fact is, " she said at length, "I don't understand Anna. Shedoesn't look at things in the same way as I do. She gets on better withthe Palmers than with me. "

"I'm sorry for that, " said the Professor, with a discouraged air, "butAnna's very young, you know, in years and character too. I daresay sheneeds patience. "

"I'm afraid I've not been patient, " said Delia, humbly. 

Mr Goodwin was the only person in the world to whom she was alwaysready to own herself in the wrong. 

"Oh, well, patience comes with years, " he said; "you're too young yet toknow much about it. It's often hard enough, even after a long life, tobear with the failings of others, and to understand our own. People areso different. Some are strong, and some are weak. And the strong onesare always expecting the weak ones to stand upright as they do, and gostraight on their way without earing for praise or blame. And, ofcourse they can't--it's not in them--they stumble and turn aside atlittle things that the others wouldn't notice. And the weak ones, towhom, perhaps, it is natural to be sweet-tempered, and yielding, andforgiving, expect those virtues from the strong--and they don't findthem--and then they wonder how it is that they find it hard to forgiveand impossible to forget, and call them harsh and unbearable. And so wego on misunderstanding instead of helping each other. "

Delia's face softened. Perhaps she had been too hasty with Anna--tooquick to blame. 

"Listen, " said the Professor, "I was reading this while I waited forservice to begin this evening. "

He had taken out of his pocket a stumpy, and very shabby little brownvolume of Thomas a Kempis, which was very familiar to her. 

"But now, God hath thus ordered it, that we may learn to bear oneanother's burdens, for no man is without fault; no man but hath hisburden; no man is self-sufficient; no man has wisdom enough for himselfalone. But we ought to bear with one another, comfort, help, instruct, and admonish one another. "

He shut the little book, and turned his eyes absently across the broad, green meadows. Delia knew that absent look of the Professor's well. Itmeant that he was travelling back into the past, seeing and hearingthings of which she knew nothing. Yet, though he did not seem to bespeaking to her, every word he said sank into her mind. 

"It's very hard for strong people to bear with weakness. It's such adisappointing, puzzling thing to them. They are always expectingimpossibilities. Yet they are bound to help. It is a sin to turnaside. To leave weakness to trail along in the mire when they might bea prop for it to lean on and climb upwards by. The strong have a dutyto the weak, and lessons to learn from them. But they are hardlessons--hard lessons. "

Long after he had finished, Mr Goodwin sat with his eyes fixed musinglyon the distance, and Delia would not disturb his thoughts by a singleword. Even when they walked home together they had very little to say, and were both in a silent mood. When they parted at the turning to BackRow, Delia spoke almost for the first time. 

"I'm not going to be cross to Anna any more, Professor. You may feelquite happy about that. "

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

THE PALMERS' PICNIC. 

 Faithful are the wounds of a friend. 

One very hot afternoon a little later, there had been a glee-practisingat the Hunts' house, a meeting which, of all others, was mostdistasteful to Delia. The last guest had taken leave, and her motherbeing on the edge of a comfortable nap in the shaded drawing-room, shewas just stealing away to her garret, when the bell rang. 

"Don't go away, my love, " murmured Mrs Hunt, half-asleep, and as shespoke Mrs Winn's solid figure advanced into the room. 

Delia resigned herself to listen to the disjointed chat which went onbetween the two ladies for a little while, but soon the visitor, takingpity on Mrs Hunt's brave efforts to keep her eyes from closing, turnedher attention in another direction. 

"I'm afraid, " she said, moving her chair nearer to Delia, "that poor, old Mr Goodwin must be sadly disappointed about his grandchild, isn'the?"

It always vexed Delia to hear the Professor called "poor and old. "

"Why?" she asked, shortly. 

"Well, because he evidently sees so little of her, " said Mrs Winn. "Ithas turned out exactly as I said it would. I said from the very first, that sort of marriage never answers. It always creates discord. Ofcourse, it's a difficult position for Mrs Forrest, but she ought toremember that the child owes duties and respect to Mr Goodwin. `Honourthy father and mother, ' and, of course, that applies to a grandfathertoo. "

"I believe Mr Goodwin is quite satisfied, " answered Delia. 

"Oh, I daresay, " said Mrs Winn. "We all know he's a dear, meek, oldman, who could never say boo to a goose. But that doesn't make itright. Now, I know for a fact that he expected Anna Forrest to tea withhim one evening, and she never came. I know all about it, because Ihappened to send him some trout that morning, and Mrs Cooper went in tocook them. Mrs Cooper chars for me, you know. `I was quite sorry, ma'am, ' she said, when she came the next day, `to see the poor, oldgentleman standing at the window with his watch in his hand, and thetrout done to a turn, and his flowers and all. It's hard on the old tobe disappointed. '"

Mrs Winn rolled out these sentences steadily, keeping her eyes firmlyfixed on Delia all the while. Now she waited for a reply. 

"I heard about it, " she said. "Anna was not able to go. "

"Then she should have sent word sooner, or her aunt should have done so. It was a great want of respect. I'm surprised, Delia, you should takeit so coolly, when you think so much of Mr Goodwin. Now, if _I_ shouldsee Anna Forrest, I shall make a point of putting her conduct in a rightlight to her. I daresay no one has done so yet--and she is but achild. "

Delia shivered inwardly. She knew that Mrs Winn was quite capable ofdoing as she said. How the Professor would shrink from suchinterference! Yet she did not feel equal to saying much against it, forMrs Winn had always kept her and every one else in Dornton in order. Her right to rebuke and admonish was taken as a matter of course. 

"You don't know, you see, " she began, "how it was that Anna wasprevented. Perhaps--"

Mrs Winn had now risen, and stood ready to depart, with her umbrellaplanted firmly on the ground. 

"My dear, " she interrupted, raising one hand, "I know _this_. Wrong iswrong, and right is right. That's enough for me, and always has been. Now, I won't disturb your dear mother to say good-bye, for I think she'sjust dropped off. I'll go softly out. "

She moved with ponderous care out of the room, followed by Delia, butcame to a stand again in the hall. 

"You heard about this picnic of the Palmers?" she said, inquiringly. "You're going, of course. It seems to be a large affair. "

"I'm not quite sure, " said Delia. 

"Julia Gibbins came in this morning, " continued Mrs Winn, "quiteexcited about her invitation. She wanted to know what I meant to wear. Julia's so absurdly frivolous, she thinks as much of her dress as a girlof sixteen. `At our age, my dear Julia, ' I said to her, `we need nottrouble ourselves about that. You may depend on it, no one will noticewhat we have on. For myself, I shall put on my Paisley shawl and mythickest boots. Picnics are always draughty and damp. ' I don't thinkshe quite liked it. Now, do you suppose the Palmers have asked MrGoodwin? Anna Forrest's so much there, that I should _almost_ thinkthey would. "

"Why not, as well as other people in Dornton?" asked Delia. 

"He never goes to Waverley, " said Mrs Winn. 

"That is by his own wish, " said Delia, quickly. "He has told me aboutthat. "

"Oh, indeed, by his own wish, " repeated Mrs Winn, her wide open greyeyes resting thoughtfully upon Delia; "that's strange, with hisgrandchild staying there. However, " with a parting nod, as she movedslowly out, "we shall soon see about the picnic. "

Delia smiled to herself as she watched her visitor's portly form out ofsight. How very little it would matter to the Professor whether thePalmers sent him an invitation or not! He would not even notice theabsence of one. He had never cultivated the habit of feeling himselfinjured, and was happily placed far above the miseries of fanciedslights and neglect. Nevertheless she resented, as she always did, thetone of condescension with which Mrs Winn had mentioned him, andreturned to the drawing-room with a ruffled brow and a vexed spirit. 

Mrs Hunt still slumbered peacefully, quite undisturbed by the littleagitations of Dornton. As her daughter entered, she gently opened hereyes. 

"Del, my love, " she murmured, "I meant to ask you to go and inquire howMrs Hurst's little boy is this morning. Did I?"

"No, mother, " said Delia. 

"There's a beautiful jelly made for him, " said Mrs Hunt, closing hereyes again, and folding her hands in front of her comfortable person. "I thought you might take it. "

"I passed the door this morning, " said Delia. "I could easily havetaken it if you had remembered to ask me. It's so late now. "

"It won't keep firm this hot weather, " continued Mrs Hunt's sweet, lowvoice. "He ought to have it to-day. "

Delia did not answer. She was tired. It was hot. Mrs Winn's visithad come at the close of a most irksome afternoon. She was longing fora little quiet time for her music. 

"Poor Mrs Hurst!" pursued her mother. "So many children, and so few tohelp her. Johnnie's been worse the last day or two. "

As usual on such occasions, Delia shortly found herself, basket in hand, making her way along the dusty High Street to Mrs Hurst's house. Dornton and the Dornton people seemed to her at that moment almostunbearable. Should she ever get away from them? she wondered. Wouldher life be spent within the hearing of Mrs Winn's sententious remarks, the tedious discussions of tiny details, the eternal chatter and gossip, which still seemed to buzz in her ears, from the meeting that afternoon?Then her thoughts turned to their usual refuge, the Professor, and shebegan to plan a visit to Anna at Waverley. Since her last talk withhim, she had made up her mind that she would do her very utmost to renewtheir old friendliness. She would not take offence so easily, or be soquick to resent it, when Anna did not see things as she did. She wouldbe patient, and she would keep her promise to the Professor. She wouldtry to understand. For his sake she would humble herself to make thefirst advance, and this, for Delia's somewhat stubborn spirit, was agreater effort than might be supposed. 

Anna, meanwhile, was quite as much interested as the Dornton peopleabout the picnic which the Palmers intended to give. All countrypleasures were new to her, and her companions at Pynes were _very_ muchamused to hear that she had never been to a picnic in her life, and hadmost confused ideas as to what it meant. 

"It will be a very large one, " said Isabel Palmer to her one morning. "Mother thinks it will be such a good way of entertaining the Dorntonpeople. We thought of a garden-party, but if it's fine a picnic will bemuch more fun. "

The three girls were alone in the schoolroom, their lessons just over, and Anna was lingering for a chat before going back to Waverley. 

"Have you settled on the place yet?" she asked. 

"Alderbury, " replied Isabel, "because it's near, and there's a jollylittle wood to make the fire in. "

"How delightful it will be!" exclaimed Anna. "How I wish it was goingto be to-morrow, I'm so afraid something will prevent it. "

"Bother this list!" put in Clara's voice, from the table where she satwriting; "you might help me, Isabel. "

"What do you want?" asked her sister. 

"Well--Mr Goodwin, for instance--am I to put him down?"

Anna gave a little start, and gazed earnestly out of the window at whichshe stood, as Isabel went up to the table and looked over Clara'sshoulder. Then they did not know! Aunt Sarah had not told them. Howstrange it seemed!

"W-well, I don't know, " said Isabel, reflectively. "We never have askedhim to anything; but a picnic's different. He's a very nice old man, isn't he?"

"He's an old dear, " replied her sister, heartily, "but he's an organist. We shouldn't ask the organist of the church here. "

"Mr Goodwin's different, somehow, " said Isabel; "he's so clever, andthen he's a great friend of the Hunts, you know, and, of course, weshall ask them. "

"Well, what am I to do?" repeated Clara. 

"Put him down, and put a query against him, " decided Isabel, "and whenmother sees the list, she can alter it if she likes. "

Anna expected every moment during this discussion that her opinion wouldbe asked. She stood quite still, her back turned to her companions, abright flush on her cheek, her heart beating fast. When all chance ofbeing appealed to was over, and the girls had gone on to other names, she drew a deep breath, as if she had escaped a danger. 

"I must go now, " she said, turning towards them, "Aunt Sarah wants meearly to-day;" and in a few moments she was out of the house and on theway home. 

It was not until she was half-way down the long hill which led fromPynes to Waverley, that she began to realise what difficulties she hadprepared for herself by her silence. If Mr Goodwin were asked, and ifhe came to the picnic, the relationship between them must be known. That would not matter so much, but it would matter that she had seemedto be ashamed of it. Why had she not told them long ago? Why had shenot spoken just now, at the first mention of his name? What a foolish, foolish girl she had been! What should she do now? Turning it over inher mind, she came to the conclusion that she must make some excuse toher Aunt, and stay away from the picnic. She could not face what mighthappen there. The Palmers' surprise, Delia's scorn. Why did you nottell us? she heard them saying, and what could she answer? As shethought of how much she had looked forward to this pleasure, a few tearsrolled down Anna's cheek, but they were not tears of repentance. Shewas only sorry for her own disappointment, and because things did not gosmoothly. It was very hard, she said to herself, and the hardest partwas that she was forced continually into crooked ways. She did not wantto be deceitful; she would much rather be brave and open like Delia, only things were too strong for her. As she thought this, Delia's faceseemed suddenly to appear before her: it did not look angry or scornful, but had a gentle, almost pleading expression on it: she was speaking, and what she said sounded quite clearly in Anna's ears: "Go back andtell them now. Go back and tell them now, " over and over again. 

Anna stopped uncertainly, and turned her head to where, over the tops ofthe trees, she could still catch a glimpse of the chimneys of Pynes: sheeven took two or three steps up the hill again, the voice still soundingentreatingly and loud. But now it was joined by another, louder andbolder, which tried to drown it. This one told her that, after all, there was no need. Things would go well. The Palmers might never know. Soon they would go to Scotland, and after that--well, that was a longway off. Anna turned again, this time with decision, and finished therest of her journey to Waverley almost at a run, without stopping tothink any more. 

As the days went on without any further mention of Mr Goodwin, shebegan to hope that, after all, she might be able to go to the picnic. How should she find out? She had not courage to ask the Palmers, andthough it would have been a simple matter to ask her grandfatherhimself, she shrank from facing him and his gentle kindliness just now. If only some visitor from Dornton would come over! This wish was atlast realised in a very unexpected way, and one which was not altogetherpleasant. It was the day on which her visit to Mr Goodwin was usuallymade, and she had begged her aunt to allow her to remain at home. Theheat had given her a headache, and she would rather go to Dornton someother day. Mrs Forrest received the excuse indulgently. 

"I will call in and leave a message with Mr Goodwin, " she said, "andyou had better lie down quietly in your own room. By the time I getback you will be better, I hope. "

But Aunt Sarah had hardly been gone ten minutes before there was a knockat Anna's door:

"Mrs Winn would like to speak to you, miss. I told her you were notwell, but she says she will only keep you a few minutes. "

Anna did not know much of Mrs Winn, and thought, as she wentdown-stairs, that she had most likely some message for Mrs Forrest toleave with her. Would she say anything about the picnic, or the peoplewho were going to it?

Mrs Winn had taken up a determined position on a stiff, straight-backedchair in the middle of the room. There was severity in her glance asshe replied to Anna's greeting, and remarked that she was sorry to missMrs Forrest. 

"Aunt Sarah's only just started to drive into Dornton, " said Anna; "Iwonder you did not meet her. "

"I came by the fields, " replied Mrs Winn shortly. "You were not wellenough to go out, I hear?"

"I had a headache, " said Anna, with her pretty blush; "aunt thought Ihad better stay at home. "

"You don't look much the worse for it, " said Mrs Winn, without removingher unblinking gaze. "Girls in my young days didn't have headaches, orif they did, they put up with them, and did their duty in spite of them. Things are turned topsy-turvy now, and it's the old who give way to theyoung. "

Surprised at this tone of reproof, for which she was quite unprepared, Anna's usually ready speech deserted her. She said nothing, and hopedthat Mrs Winn would soon go away. But that was evidently not herintention just yet: she had come prepared to say what was on her mind, and she would sit there until it was said. 

"But, perhaps, " she continued, "it's just as well you didn't go out, forI've been wanting an opportunity to speak to you for some days. "

"To me?" said Anna, faintly. 

"I never shrink from my duty, " went on Mrs Winn, "whether it'sunpleasant or not, and I don't like to see other people doing so. Now, you're only a child, and when you neglect to do what's right, you oughtto be told of it. "

Anna gazed in open-eyed alarm at her visitor. What could be coming?

"I don't suppose you know, and, therefore, I think it my duty to tellyou, that your grandfather, old Mr Goodwin, was extremely disappointedthe other day when you failed to keep your promise. I hear that hewaited for you until quite late. "

"Aunt Sarah wished me to go out with the Palmers, " said Anna. "Grandfather said he didn't mind at all--"

"I knew your mother well, " proceeded Mrs Winn, rolling on her waywithout noticing this remark, "and a sweet, young creature she was, though she made one mistake that I always regretted. And I know MrGoodwin, of course, and respect him, though he's not made of the stuffthat gets on in the world. Still, whatever his position is, you owe himduty and reverence; and let me tell you, young lady, there may come atime when you'll be sorry you've not given it. It's all very well, andvery natural, I daresay, to enjoy frolicking about with your gay youngfriends now. But youth passes, and pleasure passes, and then we allhave time to remember the duties we didn't stoop to pick up when theylay at our door. "

Anna sat in sulky silence during this long speech, with her eyes castdown, and a pout on her lips. What right had Mrs Winn to scold her?

Sullen looks, however, had no sort of effect on that lady, and when shehad taken breath, she proceeded to finish her lecture:

"I keep my eyes open, and my ears too, and I know very well, that thoughyour grandfather says nothing, and is the sort of man to bear anyneglect without complaint, that he feels hurt at your going so seldom tosee him. And, knowing this, it was my duty to come and tell you, asthere was no one else to do it. Your aunt and uncle are not intimatewith him, and Delia Hunt's too young to speak with any weight. --There'sanother thing, too, I wanted to mention. Up to yesterday Mr Goodwinhad received no invitation to the Palmers' picnic. "

Anna's heart gave a sudden leap of joy. Then she could go to thepicnic!

"I fancy, if she knew this, that Mrs Forrest would neither go herselfnor allow you to do so, " continued Mrs Winn. "Considering hisconnection with this family, it's a slight to her and her husband aswell as to him. It's extremely strange of the Palmers, when they takeso much notice of you. I almost feel inclined to go on to Pynes thisafternoon and point it out to them!"

She waited, looking at Anna for a reply, but none came, for she waspartly stunned by the force and suddenness of Mrs Winn's attack, andalso filled with alarm at the idea of her going to Pynes. That wouldspoil everything. So she sat in silence, nervously twisting her fingersin her lap, her downcast face strangely unlike that of the usuallybright, self-possessed Anna. 

"After all, " concluded Mrs Winn, "I'm rather tired, and it's a goodmile farther, so I'll go back over the fields as I came, though thestiles do try me a good deal. You know how matters stand now, and youcan't say you've not been openly dealt with. So we'll shake hands, andbear no malice. "

Anna went with her visitor as far as the garden door, and watched heruntil she was hidden from sight by the great walnut tree on the lawn. What a tiresome, interfering old lady she was, and how angry Aunt Sarahwould be! Her head really ached now. It felt as though some one hadbeen battering it on each side with large, strong hands, and she wasquite confused and giddy; but through it all one triumphant thought cameuppermost. She could go to the picnic! Presently she strolled out intothe garden, fanning her hot face with her hat, as she turned things overin her mind. On the whole, she would not mention Mrs Winn's visit toher aunt, and, of course, she must not know that Mr Goodwin had notbeen asked to the picnic. It was very near now, and as Mrs Forrest wasnot fond of listening to Dornton gossip, she was not likely to hear ofit in any other way. To go to the picnic had now taken such fullpossession of Anna's mind that nothing else seemed of much importance. She was ready to bend and twist everything that came in her way to makethe road to it straight. A small reproving voice, which still soundedsometimes, was getting less and less troublesome. "Afterwards, " Annasaid to it, "after the picnic, I will behave differently. I will neverconceal anything, and I will go often to see grandfather--but I _must_go to the picnic. "

The stable clock sounding five disturbed her reflections. Aunt Sarahwould be home soon without fail, for at a quarter past there would be amothers' meeting at the schoolroom, at which she always presided. Annawent too, sometimes, and helped to measure out calico and flannel, butshe hoped she should be excused this afternoon. The schoolroom was hot, and she did not find the books Aunt Sarah read aloud to the mothers veryinteresting. 

There was the pony-cart in the distance! But who was the second figuresitting beside Mrs Forrest? Could it be Delia? Anna ran through thehouse and into the porch, from which she could see the long approach tothe Rectory gate. There had been a time when Delia's coming had meantunmixed rejoicing, but that was over. She seemed to come now not somuch as a friend as a severe young judge, whose looks condemned, evenwhen she did not speak. 

Mrs Winn had only put into words what Delia's face had said for sometime past, and, with the sound of them still in her ears, Anna felt morealarmed than pleased, as she saw that it really was her old friend. Hadshe, too, come to point out her duty?

With the mothers' meeting on her mind, Mrs Forrest descended quicklyfrom the pony-cart, and passed Anna in the porch without looking at her. 

"Is your headache better?" she said, as she went straight into thedrawing-room, where tea was ready. "I overtook Delia on her way to seeyou, and brought her on with me. You must take care of yourselves, forI must start almost immediately. Please pour me out a cup of tea atonce. "

When Mrs Forrest had drunk her tea, and set forth at a leisurely pacefor the schoolroom, provided with work-basket and book, the two girlswere alone together. There was a pause of embarrassment, which Deliawas the first to break. 

"I was coming over, " she said, "to ask if you would care to go and getwater-lilies down at the river this evening. You said you would likesome rushes too. "

Her voice sounded kind, almost as it used to long ago, although therewas a sort of shyness in her manner. Anna was greatly relieved. SurelyDelia would not have begun like this if she intended to reprove her. 

"Mrs Forrest said you might go, if your head was better, " continuedDelia. 

Anna replied eagerly that her headache was nearly gone, a walk would doit good, she should like it immensely; and a few minutes later the girlsstarted on their expedition. It was one which had been planned in thefirst days of their acquaintance, when Anna had thought no pleasurecould compare to a ramble in the country with Delia. Fresh from therattle and noise of London, its stony pavements, and the stiffbrilliancy of the flowers in the parks, it had been a sort of rapture toher to wander freely over the fields and through the woods. AuntSarah's garden was beautiful, but this was better still. All theflowers found here might be gathered, and Delia knew exactly where theyall grew in their different seasons, and the best way of getting tothem. Anna had begun, under her guidance, to make a collection ofwild-flowers, but though started with great energy, it had not gone far. It had ceased, together with the walks, shortly after her acquaintancewith the Palmers had filled her mind with other things. Yet thoserambles with Delia had never been forgotten. Anna thought of themoften, and knew in her heart that she had never been so really happysince. This evening, as she walked along swinging her basket, she feltas though the old days had come back, and the old Delia too. It couldnot be so, really. If she knew--but she did not know. Meanwhile thesky was blue, Delia was kind, the meadows were gay and pleasant, shewould forget everything disagreeable, and enjoy herself. 

Their way lay for a short distance along the high-road, then over astile, and down through the rich flat water-meadows which spread out oneach side of the river. The Dorn was neither a rapid nor a majesticstream, but took its leisurely course between its sloping banks, with acontented ripple, disturbing no one. This course was a very windingone, making all kinds of little creeks, and shallows, and islands on itsway, and these were full of delightful plants for any one who cared togather them. Tall families of bulrushes and reeds swaying to the windwhistling through them; water-lilies, holding up their flat, green handsto make a table for their white blossoms; forests of willow-herb on thebanks, wild peppermint and comfrey, and the blue eyes of forget-me-notspeeping out here and there with modest confidence. 

"There's an old punt fastened just about here, " said Delia, as theyreached the river, "so we can get right out amongst the lilies, and thenwe can reach the rushes too. "

Delia was always the leader on such occasions, and Anna was used tofollowing her with perfect confidence, but when they came to the oldpunt, a little higher up, she eyed it with some misgivings. It lookedvery insecure, and shaky, and rotten. 

"Oh, Delia, " she cried, as her companion jumped lightly on to it andwaited for her to follow, "it's leaking--I can see the water through it. Do you think it will bear us both?"

Delia laughed as Anna crept cautiously down the bank. It reminded herof the time when she had had to encourage and help her to climb gatesand scramble through hedges. 

"Come along, " she said, holding out her hand, "it's as safe as dry land. Why, I've seen four great boys on it at once. "

"How beautiful!" cried Anna, as, after a little more encouragement, shefound herself safely on the punt by Delia's side, surrounded bywater-lilies and bulrushes. They set to work to fill their basket withthese, and when it was done there were always finer ones still almostout of reach. These must be had at any cost. Delia would lie flat onthe punt, and while Anna held the skirt of her dress, would manage toget hold of them with the handle of a stick. There was both excitementand triumph in these captures, and while they were going on the girlsforgot that any coolness had come between them, or that the world heldmuch beyond water-lilies and bulrushes. When, however, they climbed outof the punt with their dripping prizes, and sat down on the bank to resta little, recollections returned. 

"What a pity, " thought Anna, with a sigh, "that things are not alwayspleasant. Delia is nicer than any one when she is kind. "

Delia, on her side, as she packed the lilies into the basket, remindedherself that there was something she had to say to Anna, and wonderedhow she should begin. 

As usual, she plunged straight into the matter of which her mind wasfull, and said suddenly:

"Do you ever meet your grandfather at Pynes?"

Here was the tiresome subject again! All pleasure was over now. 

"No, never, " replied Anna. "He gives Clara lessons on Saturdays, andAunt Sarah always wants me at home then. "

"You are going to this picnic, I suppose?" said Delia. "Does MrsForrest know that the Professor has not been asked?"

"I don't know, " murmured Anna. 

She glanced quickly at her companion, and saw the severe look comingback which she always dreaded. 

"Of course, " continued Delia. "It does not in the least matter, as faras he is concerned, for he would not, in any case, go; but I should havethought his relations would have felt it a slight; and I can'tunderstand Mrs Palmer. "

Anna was silent. She wished now that Delia had not come, though she hadenjoyed the walk so much. 

"But I didn't mean to talk about that, " resumed Delia, with an effort. "What I wanted to say has nothing to do with the picnic. It's aboutyou, Anna, and myself. "

"About me?" repeated Anna. 

After all, Delia _was_ going to be angry, yet her voice sounded quitesoft and kind. 

"Yes. At first I didn't mean to say anything to you, because I thoughtyou ought to be able to see it for yourself. And when you didn't, I wasangry, and that kept me silent. But I know now, it was wrong. Peoplecan't see things just alike, and I ought to have been kinder, and triedto help you more. "

At this new tone of humility Anna's heart softened at once to herfriend. When she spoke like that, she felt for the moment that shewould do anything she asked--even give up the picnic. 

"Oh, Delia, " she exclaimed, impulsively, "you've always been very kind. Kinder than I deserve. "

"That's nothing to do with it, " answered Delia. "People can do withoutfriends when they deserve them. The thing is, that I promised theProfessor to be your friend, and I haven't carried it out. "

"It's been my fault, " said Anna, in a penitent voice, "but really andtruly, Delia, you may not believe me, but I _do_ like you better thanIsabel Palmer--or any one. I do indeed. "

She spoke the truth. At that moment she felt that she would rather haveDelia for a friend than any one in the world. Yet she was consciousthat, if Delia knew all, she would find it hard to forgive her. What apity it all was!

"So, what I want to tell you, " continued Delia, "and what I ought tohave told you before, is this. I've let you think that your grandfatherdoesn't mind your going so seldom to see him--but I know that he does. "

She paused and looked earnestly at Anna. 

"Grandfather never says anything about it, " Anna murmured. 

"That's just it, " said Delia. "He's so unselfish and good, he wouldn'tlet you or any one know it for the world. He thinks so little ofhimself, it would be impossible to offend him. It's not what he _says_. Oh, Anna, if you really knew, and loved him, you _couldn't_ letanything else come before him! Not all the Palmers, and Waverleys, andAunt Sarahs in the world. You _couldn't_ give him a minute's pain ordisappointment. "

She was so moved by her subject, that the tears stood in her dark eyesas she turned them upon Anna. 

"I'll try, Delia; I really will, " said the latter, "but it _is_ hard. Harder than you think. It makes Aunt Sarah different for daysafterwards. "

Delia snapped off the head of a water-lily in her impatient fingers. 

"Aunt Sarah!" she repeated. Then more gently: "You see, Anna, you mustchoose whether you'll pain the Professor or displease Mrs Forrest. Youcan't possibly please both of them. You must choose which you thinkright, and stick to it. You can't serve God and mammon. "

How dreadfully earnest Delia was! It almost frightened Anna to hear hertalk like that. 

"I will try, " she repeated. "I will do my best, Delia, if only youwon't be angry any longer. "

She put her hand softly into her companion's, and Delia's fingers closedover it in a warm clasp. For the time, the old feelings of confidenceand affection had returned, and when, a little later, Anna walked backto the Vicarage alone, she was full of good resolves. She would try todeserve Delia's friendship. She would go often to Dornton, and be veryloving to her grandfather. She would turn over a new leaf. 

"My dear Anna, " cried Mrs Forrest, meeting her in the porch with herbasket of wet, shining river-plants, "do you know the time? Miss Stileshas been waiting to try on your dress for the picnic. Dear me! whatdripping things! Let Mary take them. "

The picnic! Anna had really for the moment forgotten the picnic. Allthe good resolves trooped into the background again while she tried onthe new dress. But only till _after_ the picnic! When that was overshe would make a fresh start, and never, never, conceal anything again. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

THE BEST THINGS. 

 A rose which falleth from the hand, which fadeth in the breast, Until in grieving for the worst, we learn what is the best. 

 Mrs Browning. 

Everything went on quite smoothly until the day fixed for the picniccame. Aunt Sarah gave no hint of any objection; the weather wasgloriously hot and fine; Anna's new white dress was very pretty--therewas nothing wanting to her long-desired enjoyment. 

She stood amongst the nodding roses in the porch, waiting for thePalmers to call for her in their carriage, on the way to Alderbury. Aunt Sarah was, perhaps, to drive over and join the party later. Annahad dismissed all troublesome thoughts. She felt sure she was going tobe very happy, and that nothing unlucky would happen to spoil herpleasure. She was in gay spirits, as she fastened a bunch of the littlecluster-roses in her dress. Isabel had once told her that she lookedvery pretty in white, and she was glad to feel that she suited thebeauty of the bright summer day. 

"Anna!" said Mrs Forrest's voice from the hall within. 

Anna turned. The hall looked dark and shadowy after the sunshine, butit was easy to see that there was vexation on her aunt's face as shestudied the letter in her hand. 

"I have just had a note from Dr Hunt, " she said. "Mr Goodwin, yourgrandfather, is not very well. "

"What is the matter?" asked Anna. 

She left the porch and went up to her aunt's side. 

"Why, I can't quite make out. Dr Hunt talks of fever, but says thereis nothing infectious. Brought on by over-exertion in the heat, hethinks. He says you may safely go to see him--"

There was a pause. Mrs Forrest and Anna looked at each other: eachwaited for the other to speak. Must I give up the picnic after all?thought Anna. 

"I don't gather that it's anything serious, " said Mrs Forrest atlength. "I think the best plan will be for me to go over to Dornton, after you've started, and see Dr Hunt. Then, if there's really nodanger of infection, you can go there early to-morrow, " She lookedinquiringly at Anna, as though half-expecting her to make some othersuggestion. The sound of wheels on the gravel, and the tramp of horses, told that the Palmers were approaching: the wagonette, full of gay youngpeople, drove up to the porch. 

"Are you ready, Anna?" called out Isabel's voice. 

"Will that satisfy you?" said Mrs Forrest; "you must decide now. "

"We're late, Anna, " said Isabel again, "why don't you come?"

Anna hesitated. She looked out at the bright sunshine, where hercompanions called her to gaiety and pleasure, and then at the letter inher aunt's hand. 

"Here's your cloak, Miss Anna, " said the maid waiting at the door. 

In another moment, it seemed almost without any will of her own, she wassqueezed into the carriage amongst her laughing companions, had waved afarewell to Mrs Forrest standing smiling in the porch, and was whirledaway to the picnic. 

The hours of the sunny day, filled with delight for Anna amongst thepleasant woods of Alderbury, did not pass so quickly at Number 4 BackRow. The Professor was ill. He had had a slight feverish attack tobegin with, which passed off, and seemed of no importance, but it hadleft him in a state of nervous weakness and prostration, at which DrHunt looked grave. Mr Goodwin must have been over-exerting himself forsome time past, he declared, and this breakdown was the result. Itwould probably be some time before he could do any work. Perfect rest, and freedom from all care and agitation, were the only remedies. 

"Don't let him know, Delia, " he said to his daughter as he left thehouse, "that he's likely to be laid up long. Keep him as quiet andcheerful as possible. I'll send a line to Mrs Forrest, and let herknow that his grandchild may be with him as much as she likes. "

Delia prepared to spend the rest of the day with her old friend, andhaving persuaded him to lie down on the hard little couch, and made himas comfortable as she could with pillows, she sat down in the windowwith her sewing. From here she could watch the little gate, and preventany one from entering too suddenly. Of course Anna would come soon. The Professor was very quiet, but she thought he turned his eyes towardsthe door now and then, as though looking for some one. Was it Anna? Atlast she was thankful to see him fall into a doze which lasted somewhile, and she was just thinking for the hundredth time that Anna _must_come now, when she was startled by his voice:

"Prissy, " it said, quite clearly. 

Delia went up to the sofa. Mr Goodwin gazed at her for a momentwithout recognition. 

"You've had a nice sleep, Professor, " she said, smiling, "and now youare going to have some tea with me. "

But in spite of his sleep, the Professor's face looked anxious, and hehardly tasted the tea which Delia prepared. As she took his cup, hesaid wistfully:

"Did Dr Hunt write to Mrs Forrest?"

Delia nodded. 

"Did--did Anna happen to come while I was asleep?" was his nextquestion. 

"She's not been yet, " said Delia, "but they may not have had the lettertill late. She will come soon. "

"I should like to see her, " said the Professor. 

Why did not Anna come? As the weary hours went by, and the sun gotlower and lower, he became very restless, looked first at his watch andthen at the door, and no longer tried to conceal how much he wanted tosee his grandchild. Delia tried in vain to divert his mind by readinghis favourite books, but it was evident that he was not listening toher. He was listening for the click of the gate, and the footstepsoutside. Every subject in which she tried to interest him came back tothe same thing, Anna, and Anna's doings. Delia could not help one throbof jealous pain, as she recognised how powerless she was to take herplace, a place she seemed to value so little. But it was only for onemoment; the next she put all thought of herself aside. Anna belonged tothe dearest memories of the Professor's life. She had a place in hisheart which would always be kept for her, whatever she had done or leftundone. To bring peace and comfort into his face again, Delia wouldhave been willing at that moment to give up her own place in hisaffections entirely. If only Anna would come!

"I suppose it's too late to expect her now, my dear, isn't it?" said thepatient voice again. 

Delia could not bear it any longer. 

"I think, " she said, as cheerfully as she could, "if you don't mindbeing alone a little while, I'll just run over to Waverley. MrsCooper's here, if you want anything, you know. "

"Will you really?" said the Professor, with hope in his voice. 

"There's perhaps been some mistake about that letter, " said Delia. "You'd like to see Anna to-night, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I _should_, " said Mr Goodwin. "It's very absurd, I know, but Ihad such a strange dream just now about her and Prissy, and I can't getit out of my head. I suppose being not quite up to the mark makes oneunreasonable, but I really don't think I could sleep without seeing her. It's very good of you to go, my dear. "

"I'll be back in no time, and bring her with me, " said Delia. 

She spoke with confidence, but half-way across the fields she stoppedher rapid pace, checked by a sudden thought--the picnic!

In her anxiety she had forgotten it. Anna might have started before DrHunt's note got to Waverley. Even then, though, she said to herself, she must be home by now. So she ran on again, and half an hour latershe was on her way back over the darkening fields--without Anna. Shehad gone to the picnic, and she knew the Professor was ill! Once Deliawould have felt angry; now there was only room in her heart for onethought: "He will be disappointed, and he will not sleep to-night. "

The church clock struck nine as she entered the High Street in Dornton, and the same sound fell faintly on Anna's ears on her way back fromAlderbury. The picnic had been over long ago, but, shortly after theparty started to return, one of the horses lost a shoe; the carriage inwhich Anna was had to proceed at a slow walk for the rest of thedistance, and it would be very late before she could reach Waverley. 

No accident, however, could damp her spirits, or those of hercompanions. It was all turned into amusement and fun. The whole dayhad been more delightful than any Anna had known. It was over now, thatdelightful day, and she gave a little sigh of regret to think that shewas at the end of it instead of at the beginning. The one shadow whichhad fallen across the brightness of it, had been cast by the substantialfigure of Mrs Winn, whom she had seen in the distance now and then. Once she had noticed her in earnest conversation with Mrs Palmer, andthought that they had both looked in her direction, but it had been easyto avoid contact with her amongst so many people. It had not spoiledher enjoyment then; but now, her excitement a little cooled down, unpleasant thoughts began to make themselves heard. 

Here was the Rectory at last! Anna burst into the drawing-room, herfair hair falling in confusion over her shoulders, a large bundle offoxgloves in her arms, her cheeks bright with the cool night breeze. 

"Oh, aunt!" she exclaimed, "we've had such a lovely, lovely day. Whydidn't you come?"

"You're very late, my dear Anna, " said Mrs Forrest, gravely. "Iexpected you more than an hour ago. "

Anna explained the reason of her delay. 

"Alderbury is the most perfect place, " she repeated. "Why didn't youcome?"

"It's very unlucky that you should be late, " said Mrs Forrest. "Deliahas been over asking for you. "

Anna's face fell. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "My grandfather! Is he worse?"

"I don't think so. And from what I learned from Dr Hunt, he is not atall seriously ill. But he was restless, Delia said, and wanted to seeyou to-night. "

"To see me, " said Anna. She let her flowers fall in a heap on theground. "Oh, Aunt Sarah, I wish I had not gone to the picnic!"

"Now, my dear Anna, that is foolish. You shall go to Dornton earlyto-morrow, and no doubt you will find Mr Goodwin better. Remember thatthere is no cause for anxiety, and though the accident of your beinglate was very unfortunate, it could not be avoided. "

Aunt Sarah's composed words were reassuring. Probably her grandfatherwas not very ill, Anna thought; but oh, why had she gone to the picnic, and what would Delia say?

These last words were in her mind again next morning, as she arrived atNumber 4 Back Row, and stood waiting to be let in. The little houselooked very sad and silent, as though it knew its master was ill. Presently the door opened a very little way, and the long, mournful faceof Mrs Cooper appeared. When she saw who it was she put her finger onher lip, and then said in a loud, hoarse whisper, "I'll call MissDelia. "

Anna was left outside. She felt frightened. Why did Mrs Cooper lookso grave? Perhaps grandfather was very ill after all!

It seemed ages before the door opened again, and when it did, it wasDelia who stood there. She did not look at all angry, but her face wasvery sad. 

"He has had a very bad night, " she whispered, "but now he is sleeping. He must not be disturbed. You had better come later. "

That was all. The door was gently shut again, and Anna stood outside. As she turned away, her eyes filled with tears. Yesterday hergrandfather had wanted her, and she had not gone--to-day the door wasshut. He must be very ill, she felt sure, whatever Aunt Sarah mightsay. His kind, gentle face came before her, as she made her way along--always kind, never with any reproach in it. How could she have gone tothe picnic, and left him to ask for her in vain?

As she reached the place where the pony-cart waited for her, IsabelPalmer came out of a shop. She looked at her with a sort of coldsurprise. 

"Oh, Anna, " she said, "how is Mr Goodwin? We only heard yesterday hewas ill. I was going to his house to ask after him. "

"Dr Hunt says there is no cause for anxiety, " said Anna, repeating thesentence she had so often heard from Aunt Sarah. 

"It was Mrs Winn who told mother he was ill, " continued Isabel, observing Anna's downcast face curiously, "and--she said another thingwhich surprised us all very much. Why didn't you tell us long ago thatMr Goodwin is your grandfather?"

Anna was silent. 

"We can't understand it at all, " continued Isabel. "Mother says itmight have caused great unpleasantness. She's quite vexed. "

She waited a moment with her eyes fixed on Anna, and then said, with alittle toss of her head:

"Well--good-bye. I suppose we shan't meet again before we go toScotland. Mother has written to tell Mrs Forrest that we're not goingon with lessons. "

They parted with a careless shake of the hands, and Anna was driven awayin the pony-cart. Her friendship with Isabel, her pleasant visits toPynes, were over now. She was humbled and disgraced before every one, and Delia would know it too. It would have been a wounding thoughtonce, but now there was no room in her heart for any feeling but dreadof what might happen to Mr Goodwin. 

"Oh, Aunt Sarah, " she cried, when she reached Waverley, and found heraunt in the garden, "I'm sure my grandfather is worse--I'm sure he'svery ill. I did not see him. "

Mrs Forrest was tying up a rebellious creeper, which wished to climb inits own way instead of hers. She finished binding down one of theunruly tendrils before she turned to look at her niece. Anna wasflushed. Her eyelids were red and swollen. 

"Why didn't you see him?" she asked. "Does Dr Hunt think him worse?"

"I don't know, " said Anna. "I only saw Delia for a minute. He wasasleep. I am to go again. Oh, Aunt Sarah, " with a burst of sobs, "I dowish I had not gone to the picnic. I wish I had behaved better to mygrandfather. I wish--"

Mrs Forrest laid her hand kindly on Anna's shoulder. 

"My dear, " she said, "you distress yourself without reason. We can relyon Dr Hunt's opinion that your grandfather only needs rest. Sleep isthe very best thing for him. When you go this evening, you will see howfoolish you have been. Meanwhile, try to exercise some self-control;occupy yourself, and the time will soon pass. "

She turned to her gardening again, and Anna wandered off alone. AuntSarah's calm words had no comfort in them. Delia's severest rebuke, even Mrs Winn's plain speech, would have been better. She wentrestlessly up to her bedroom, seeking she hardly knew what. Her eyefell on the little brown case, long unopened, which held her mother'sportrait. Words, long unthought of, came back to her as she looked atit. 

"If you are half as good and beautiful, " her father had said; and on thesame day what had been Miss Milverton's last warning? "Try to value thebest things. "

"Oh, " cried Anna to herself as she looked at the pure, truthful eyes ofthe picture, "if I only could begin again! But now it's all got sowrong, it can never, never be put right!"

After a while, she went into the garden again, and avoiding MrsForrest, crossed the little foot-bridge leading into the field, and satdown on the gate. The chimneys of Leas Farm in the distance made herthink of Daisy, and the old days when they had first met, and she hadbeen so full of good resolves. Daisy, and the good resolves, and Deliatoo, seemed all to have vanished together. She had no friends now. Every one had deserted her, and she had deserved it!

She was sitting during those reflections with her face buried in herhands, and presently was startled by the sound of a little voice behindher. 

"What's the matter?" it said. 

It was Daisy Oswald, who had come through the garden, and now stood onthe bridge close to her, a basket of eggs in her hand, and her childish, freckled face full of wonder and sympathy. 

Generally, Anna would have been ashamed to be seen in distress, andwould have tried to hide it, but now she was too miserable to mindanything. She hid her face in her hands again, without answeringDaisy's question. 

"Has some one been cross?" inquired Daisy at last. 

Anna shook her head. Her heart ached for sympathy even from Daisy, though she could not speak to her, and she hoped she would not go awayjust yet. 

"Have you hurt yourself?" proceeded Daisy. 

Again the same sign. 

"Have you done something naughty? I did something very naughty once. "

Seeing that Anna did not shake her head this time, she added, in hercondescending little tone:

"If you like, I'll come and sit beside you, and tell you all about it. "

She put her basket of eggs very carefully on the ground, and placedherself comfortably by Anna's side. 

"It was a very naughty thing _I_ did, " she began, in a voice of someenjoyment, "worse than yours, I expect. It was a year ago, and one ofour geese was sitting, and mother said she wasn't to be meddled withnohow. And the white Cochin-china hen was sitting too, and"--Daisypaused to give full weight to the importance of the crime, and openedher eyes very wide, "and--I changed 'em! I carried the goose and puther on the hen's nest, and she forsook it, and the hen forsook hers, andthe eggs were all addled! Mother _was_ angry! She said it wasn't theeggs she minded so much as the disobedience. Was yours worse thanthat?"

"Much, much worse, " murmured Anna. 

Daisy made a click with her tongue to express how shocked she felt atthis idea. 

"Have you said you're sorry, and you won't do it any more?" she asked. "When you're sorry, people are kind. "

"I don't deserve that they should be kind, " said Anna, looking upmournfully at her little adviser. 

"Father and mother were kind afterwards, " said Daisy. "I had to bepunished though. I didn't have eggs for breakfast for a whole monthafter I changed the goose. I like eggs for breakfast, " she added, thoughtfully. Then glancing at her basket, as she got down from thegate, "Mother sent those to Mrs Forrest. I came through the garden tofind you, but I'm going back over the field. You haven't been to seeStar for ever so long. She's growing a real beauty. "

Long after Daisy was out of sight her simple words lingered in Anna'smind. They had made her feel less miserable, though nothing wasaltered. "When you're sorry, people are kind, " she repeated. If hergrandfather knew the very worst, if he knew that she had actually beenashamed of him, would he possibly forgive her? would he ever look kindlyat her again? Anna sat up and dried her tears. She lifted her headwith a sudden resolve. "I will tell him, " she said to herself, "everybit about it, from the very beginning, and then I must bear whatever hesays, and whatever Delia says. "

It was easy to make this brave resolve, with no one to hear it but thequiet cows feeding in the field, but when the evening came, and shestood for the second time at Number 4 Back Row, her heart beat quicklywith fear. When she thought of her grandfather's kind face her couragerose a little, but when she thought of what she had to tell him, it fellso low that she was almost inclined to run away. The door opened, butthis time Mrs Cooper did not leave her outside. She flung open thedoor of the sitting-room with her other hand, and said in a loud voice, "Miss Forrest, sir. "

Anna entered, half afraid as to what she should see, for she had made upher mind that her grandfather was really very ill. To her relief, theProfessor and his shabby little room looked unaltered. He was sittingin his arm-chair by the window, tired and worn, as she had often foundhim before, after one of his long walks, and held out his kind hand towelcome her as usual. 

"Oh my dear Anna, " he said, "you've come to see me. That's right. Comeand sit here. "

There was a chair close to him, and as she took it, Anna noticed a pieceof half-finished knitting on the table, which she knew belonged toDelia. "If Delia comes in, " she thought to herself, "I _can't_ do it. "

"Are you better, grandfather?" she managed to ask, in a very subduedvoice. 

"Oh, I'm getting on splendidly!" he answered, "with such a good nurse, and so much care and attention, I shall soon be better than ever I wasbefore. "

There was no mistaking the expression in his face as he turned ittowards her. Not only welcome and kindness, but love, shone from itbrightly. In the midst of her confusion Anna wondered how it was thatshe had never felt so sure of her grandfather's affection before. Andnow, perhaps, she was to lose it. 

"You can't think how wonderfully kind every one is, " he continued. "Ireally might almost think myself an important person in Dornton. Theysend messages and presents, and are ready to do anything to help me. Mr Hurst came in just now to tell me that he has arranged to fill myplace as organist for a whole month, so that I may have a rest. They'revery nice, good people in Dornton. That kind Mrs Winn offered to comeand read to me, and then Delia is like another grand-daughter, youknow. "

Anna's heart was full as he chatted on. Must she tell him? Might shenot put it off a little?

"And so you went to a picnic yesterday?" he went on, as she sat silentlyby him. "Was it very pleasant? Let me see, did the sun shine? Youmust tell me all about it. I am to be an idle man now, you know, andshall want every one to amuse me with gossip. "

"Grandfather, " cried Anna, with a sudden burst of courage, "I want totell you--I've done something very wrong. "

The Professor turned his gentle glance upon her. 

"We all have to say that, my dear, " he answered, "very often. But I'msure you're sorry for it, whatever it is. "

"It's something very bad, " murmured Anna, "Delia knows. She won'tforgive me, I know, but I thought perhaps you would. "

"Is it to Delia you have done wrong?" asked Mr Goodwin. 

"No. To you, " replied Anna, gaining courage as she went on, "I--"

The Professor stroked her fair hair gently. It was just the same colouras Prissy's, he thought. 

"Then I don't want to hear any more, my dear, " he said, "for I know allabout it already. "

The relief was so great, after the effort of speaking, that Anna burstinto tears, but they were tears full of comfort, and had no bitternessin them. 

"Oh, grandfather, " she sobbed, "you _are_ good. Better than any one. Iwill never, never--"

"Hush, my dear, hush, " said the Professor, patting her hand gently, andtrying to console her by all the means in his power. 

"I wonder where Delia is!" he said at last, finding that his effortswere useless. 

Anna sat up straight in her chair at the name, and dried her tears. Shedreaded seeing Delia, but it must be faced. 

"She was here the moment before you came in, " he continued. "Call her, my dear. "

It was not possible to be very far off in Mr Goodwin's house, andDelia's voice answered from the kitchen, when Anna opened the door andcalled her. A few minutes afterwards she came into the room carrying atray full of tea-things; her quick glance rested first on Anna'stear-stained face, and then on the Professor. 

"Anna and I have had a nice talk, my dear Delia, " he said, with anappealing look, "and now we should all like some tea. "

Delia understood the look. She put down her tray, went promptly up toAnna, and kissed her:

"Come and help me to get the tea ready, " she said; "it's quite time theProfessor had something to eat. "

So Anna was forgiven, and it was in this way that, during her visit toWaverley, she began dimly to see what the best things are, and to see itthrough sorrow and failure. It was a lesson she had to go on learning, like the rest of us, all through her life--not an easy lesson, or one tobe quickly known. Sometimes we put it from us impatiently, and choosesomething which looks more enticing, and not so dull, and for a time wego on our way gaily--and then, a sorrow, or perhaps a sin, brings hometo us that everything is worthless compared to Love, Truth, andFaithfulness to Duty, and that if we have been false to them, there isno comfort anywhere until we return to serve them with tears ofrepentance. 

THE END.