"Any port in a storm, eh?" he said, good-naturedly, as he put the rug over her knees.--"All right at the back, Jim?" A shake of the reins, and Molly dashed forward with a bound that almost threw Anna off her seat, and whirled the cart out of the station-yard at what seemed to her a fearful pace. "She'll quiet down directly," said Mr Oswald; "she's fretted a bit standing at the station. Don't ye be nervous, missie; there's not a morsel of harm in her." Nevertheless, Anna felt obliged to grasp the side of the cart tightly as Molly 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 and houses looked! If only Molly would go a little slower! "Yonder's the church," said Mr Oswald, pointing up a steep side-street with his whip; "and yonder's the river," waving it in the opposite direction. Anna turned her head quickly, and caught a hurried glimpse of a grey tower on one side, and a thin white streak in the distant, low-lying meadows on the other. "And here's the new bank," continued Mr Oswald, with some pride, as they passed a tall, red brick building which seemed to stare the other houses out of countenance; "and the house inside the double white gates is Dr Hunt's." "I suppose you know Dornton very well?" Anna said as he paused. "Been here, man and boy, a matter of forty years--leastways, in the neighbourhood," replied the farmer. "Then you know where Mr Goodwin lives, I suppose?" said Anna. "Which of 'em?" said the farmer. "There's Mr Goodwin, the baker; and Mr Goodwin, the organist at Saint Mary's." "Oh, the organist," said Anna. "To be sure I do. He lives in Number 4 Back Row. You can't see it from here; it's an ancient part of Dornton, in between High Street and Market Street. He's been here a sight of years--every one knows Mr Goodwin-- he's as well known as the parish church is." Anna felt pleased to hear that. It convinced her that her grandfather must be an important person, although Back Row did not sound a very important place. "How fast your horse goes," she said, by way of continuing the conversation, for, after her long silence in the train, it was quite pleasant to talk to somebody. "Ah, steps out, doesn't she?" said the farmer, with a gratified chuckle. "You won't beat her for pace _this_ side of the county. She was bred at Leas Farm, and she's a credit to it." They were now clear of the town, and had turned off the dusty high-road into a lane, with high hedges on either side. "Oh, how pretty!" cried Anna.