“Perhaps,” said Anna, hesitatingly, “I’d better have a cab, as Mrs Forrest is not here.”
“I could order you a fly at the Blue Boar,” said the porter. “’Twouldn’t be ready, not for a half-hour or so. Mr Oswald ’d get yer over a deal quicker.”
No cabs! What a strange place, and how unlike London! Anna glanced uncertainly at the high cart, the tall strawberry horse stamping impatiently, and the good-natured, brown face of the farmer. It would be an odd way of arriving at Waverley, and she was not at all sure that Aunt Sarah would approve of it; but what was she to do? It was very kind of the farmer; would he expect to be paid?
“Better come along, missie,” said Mr Oswald, as these thoughts passed rapidly through her mind. “You’ll be over in a brace of shakes.—Hoist them things in at the back, Jim.”
Almost before she knew it, Anna had taken the broad hand held out to help her, had mounted the high step, and was seated by the farmer’s side.
“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.