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.