In the garden it was pleasant and peaceful enough. Tea was ready, under the shade of the medlar tree. The pigeons whirled and fluttered about over the red roofs all around, settling sometimes on the lawn for a few moments, bowing and cooing to each other. Mrs Hunt, meanwhile, chatted on in a comfortable way, hardly settling longer on one spot in her talk than the pigeons; from the affairs of her district to the affairs of the nation, from an anecdote about the rector to a receipt for scones, she rambled gently on; but at last coming to a favourite topic, she made a longer rest. Anna was glad of it, for it dealt with people of whom she had been wishing to hear--her mother and her grandfather. Mrs Hunt had much to tell of the former, whom she had known from the time when she had been a girl of Anna's age until her marriage with Mr Bernard Forrest. She became quite enthusiastic as one recollection after the other followed. "A sweeter face and a sweeter character than Prissy Goodwin's could not be imagined," she said. "We were all sorry when she left Dornton, and every one felt for Mr Goodwin. Poor man, he's aged a great deal during the last few years. I remember him as upright as a dart, and always in such good spirits!" "I have a portrait of my mother," said Anna, "a miniature, painted just after her marriage. It's very pretty indeed." "It should be, if it's a good likeness," said Mrs Hunt. "There's never been such a pretty girl in Dornton since your mother went away. I should like to see that portrait. When you come over again, which I hope will be soon, you must bring it with you, and then we will have some more talk about your dear mother." Anna readily promised, and as she walked up the High Street by Delia's side, her mind was full of all that she had heard that afternoon. It had interested and pleased her very much, but somehow it was difficult to connect Mr Goodwin and his dusty, little house with the picture formed 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, suddenly turning to her companion. "I was two years old," replied Delia, smiling, "but though I can't remember your mother, I can remember your grandfather when I was quite a little girl. He was always so good to me. Long before he began to teach me to play, I used to toddle by his side to church, and wait there while he practised on the organ. I think it was that which made me first love music." "It seems so odd," said Anna, hesitatingly, "that I should be his grandchild, and yet that he should be almost a stranger to me; while you--" "But," put in Delia, quickly, for she thought that Anna was naturally feeling jealous, "you won't be strangers long now; you will come over often, and soon you will feel as though you'd known him always. To tell you the truth," she added, lightly, "I felt dreadfully jealous of you when I first heard you were coming."