his is!" she exclaimed with delight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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