Thistle and Rose | Page 8

were telling each
other interesting bits of news. She moved about with a preoccupied
frown on her brow, picking up morsels of silk from the floor, rolling up
strips of serge, and pushing back chairs and tables, until the room had
regained its ordinary look. Then she stretched her arms above her head,
gave a sigh of relief, and strolled out of the open French windows into
the garden. The air was very calm and still, so that various mingled

noises from the town could be plainly heard, though not loudly enough
to produce more than a subdued hum, which was rather soothing than
otherwise. Amongst them the deep recurring tones of the church bell,
ringing for evening prayers, fell upon Delia's ear as she wandered
slowly up the gravel path, her head full of busy thoughts.
They were not wholly pleasant thoughts, and they had to do chiefly
with two people, one very well known to her, and the other quite a
stranger-- Mr Goodwin, and his grandchild, Anna Forrest. Delia could
hardly make up her mind whether she were pleased or annoyed at the
idea of Anna's arrival. Of course she was glad, she told herself, of
anything that would please the "Professor," as she always called Mr
Goodwin; and she was curious and anxious to see what the new-comer
would be like, for perhaps they might be companions and friends,
though Anna was two years younger than herself. She could not,
however, prevent a sort of suspicion that made her feel uneasy. Anna
might be proud. She might even speak of the Professor in the
condescending tone which so many people 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 the head
of a snapdragon which grew in an angle of the old red wall--"if she
is--if she dares--if she doesn't see that the Professor is worth more than
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 do then?
Why, then, I will try not to detest her."
She laughed a little as she stooped to gather some white pinks which
bordered 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 to
love music. Dear old Professor, how pleased he will be! I will try not to

mind, but I do hope she can't play the violin as well as I do. After all, it
would be rather unfair if she had a beautiful face and a musical soul as
well."
The bell stopped, and the succeeding silence was harshly broken by the
shrill whistle of a train.
"There's the five o'clock train," said Delia to herself; "to-morrow by
this time she will be here."
Mrs Winn and Miss Gibbins meanwhile had pursued their way home
together, for they lived close to each other.
"It's a pity Delia Hunt has such blunt manners, isn't it?" said the latter
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 deal of
good in Delia, but she is conceited and self-willed, like all young
people."
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't
that Mr Oswald?"
"Yes, I think so," said Mrs Winn, gazing after the spring-cart which had
passed them rapidly. "What then?"
"He had a child with him," said Miss Gibbins impressively. "A child
with 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 till to-morrow.
Mrs Forrest told Mrs Hunt so herself. Besides, how should Mr Oswald
have anything to do with meeting her? That was his own little 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 hair shone
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
her new home. At first she was pleased and excited at setting forth on a
journey all by herself, and found plenty to occupy her with all she saw
from the carriage windows, and with wondering