Thistle and Rose, Amy Walton [best beach reads of all time .TXT] 📗

herself at the house and ask for Daisy. She must content herself by looking in at the farmyard gate as she passed it. A little farther on, Delia had pointed out another gate, on the other side of the lane, which led straight into the Vicarage field, and towards this she now made her way.

She was unusually thoughtful as she sauntered slowly down the lane, for her visit to Dornton had brought back thoughts of her mother and grandfather, which had lately been kept in the background. She had to-day heard them spoken of with affection and admiration, instead of being passed over in silence. Waverley was very pleasant. Aunt Sarah was kind, and her Uncle John indulgent, but about her relations in Dornton there was scarcely a word spoken. It was strange. She remembered Delia's sparkling eyes as she talked of Mr Goodwin. That was stranger still. In the two visits Anna had paid to him, she had not discovered much to admire, and she had not been pleased with the appearance of Number 4 Back Row. It had seemed to her then that people called him "poor Mr Goodwin" with reason: he was poor, evidently, or he would 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 that first evening she had seen him. Yet, perhaps, when she knew him as well as 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 and loved her mother, and she resolved to make more efforts to go there frequently, and to risk displeasing Aunt Sarah and upsetting her arrangements. It would be very disagreeable, for she knew well that neither Mr Goodwin nor Dornton were favourite subjects at Waverley; and when things were going smoothly and pleasantly, it was so much nicer to leave them alone. However, she would try, and just then arriving at the farmyard gate, she dismissed those tiresome thoughts, and leaned over to look with great interest at the creatures within. As she did so, a little girl came out of the farmhouse and came slowly down the lane towards her. She was about twelve years old, very childish-looking for her age, and dressed in a fresh, yellow cotton frock, nearly covered by a big, white pinafore. Her little, round head was bare, and her black hair 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 to spill. Her eyes were so closely bent on this, that until she was near Anna she did not see her; and then, with a start, she came suddenly to a stand-still, not forgetting to preserve the balance of the mug and plate. It was a very nice, open, little face she raised towards Anna, with a childish and innocent expression, peppered thickly with freckles like 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 now from 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 to come and see your cows." The little girl nodded.

"I know what your name is," she said. "You're Miss Anna Forrest. Puppa fetched you over from the station. You came quick. Puppa was driving Strawberry 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 a little surprise; "they're all out in the field." She considered Anna thoughtfully for a moment, and then added, jerking her head towards the next gate, "Won't you come and sit on that gate? I often sit on that gate. Most every evening."

The invitation was made with so much friendliness that Anna could not refuse 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 disposed herself comfortably on the top bar. "Now"--smoothing her pinafore tightly 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 her companion, for she was not used to climbing gates; but after some struggles, watched by Daisy with a chuckle of amusement, she succeeded in placing herself at her side. In this position they sat facing the Vicarage garden at the end of the field. It looked quite near, and Anna hoped 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 gate before."

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 you don't need to climb gates."

Daisy nodded.

"I know," she said, "like Dornton. Now there's two lots of bread and butter, 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 work heartily on her simple meal alone, stopping in the intervals of her bites 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. And always 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 the lamps in the streets too, it was as light as day."

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

Anna shook her head.

"Do you like being at Waverley?" pursued the inquiring Daisy, tilting up the mug so that her brown eyes came just above the rim; "there's no one to play with there, but I s'pose you don't mind. I haven't any brothers and 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 many animals in London."

"Well," said Daisy, who had now finished the last crumb of bread and the last 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, scrambling hastily down from the gate. "Come along."

Anna followed her back to the farmyard, where she pushed open the door of a shed, and beckoned her companion in. All was dim and shadowy, and there 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, with a white star on its forehead; it turned its dewy, dark eyes reproachfully 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 pat the 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 the cows Daisy, after me, for ever so long. There was Old Daisy, and Young Daisy, 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 counted the 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 her first 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 only one matter which did not become easy, and that was her nearer acquaintance with her grandfather. Somehow, when she asked to go to Dornton, there was always a difficulty of some kind--Mrs Forrest could not spare the time to go with her, or the pony-cart to take her, or a maid to walk so far, and she must not go alone. At first, mindful of her resolves, she made efforts to overcome those objections, but being always repulsed, she soon ceased them, and found it easier and far more pleasant to leave her aunt to arrange the visits herself.

In this way they became very rare, and when they did take place, they were not very satisfactory, for Anna and her grandfather were seldom left alone. She did not, therefore, grow to be any fonder of Back Row, or to associate her visits there with anything pleasant. Indeed, few as they were, she soon began to find them rather irksome, and to be relieved when they were over. This was the only subject on which she was not perfectly confidential to her new friend, Delia, who was now her constant companion, for although Anna went very seldom to Dornton, Mrs Forrest 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 she who listened, and Anna who did most of the talking. Delia heard all about her life in London, and how much better she liked the country; all about Aunt Sarah's punctuality, and how difficult it was to go to Dornton; but about the Professor she heard very little. Always on the lookout for slights on his behalf, and jealous for his dignity, she soon began to feel a little sore on his account, and to have a suspicion that Anna's heart was not in the matter. For her own part, she knew that not all the aunts and rules in the world would have kept her from paying him the attention that was his due. As the visits became fewer this feeling increased, and sometimes gave a severity to her