Ive come to confess something to you, Mr. Harrison, she said resolutely. Its its about that Jersey cow.
Bless my soul, exclaimed Mr. Harrison nervously, has she gone and broken into my oats again? Well, never mind never mind if she has. Its no difference none at all, I I was too hasty yesterday, thats a fact. Never mind if she has.
Oh, if it were only that, sighed Anne. But its ten times worse. I dont
Bless my soul, do you mean to say shes got into my wheat?
No no not the wheat. But
Then its the cabbages! Shes broken into my cabbages that I was raising for Exhibition, hey?
Its not the cabbages, Mr. Harrison. Ill tell you everything that is what I came for-but please dont interrupt me. It makes me so nervous. Just let me tell my story and dont say anything till I get through-and then no doubt youll say plenty, Anne concluded, but in thought only.
I wont say another word, said Mr. Harrison, and he didnt. But Ginger was not bound by any contract of silence and kept ejaculating, Redheaded snippet at intervals until Anne felt quite wild.
I shut my Jersey cow up in our pen yesterday. This morning I went to Carmody and when I came back I saw a Jersey cow in your oats. Diana and I chased her out and you cant imagine what a hard time we had. I was so dreadfully wet and tired and vexed-and Mr. Shearer came by that very minute and offered to buy the cow. I sold her to him on the spot for twenty dollars. It was wrong of me. I should have waited and consulted Marilla, of course. But Im dreadfully given to doing things without thinking-everybody who knows me will tell you that. Mr. Shearer took the cow right away to ship her on the afternoon train.
Redheaded snippet, quoted Ginger in a tone of profound contempt.
At this point Mr. Harrison arose and, with an expression that would have struck terror into any bird but a parrot, carried Gingers cage into an adjoining room and shut the door. Ginger shrieked, swore, and otherwise conducted himself in keeping with his reputation, but finding himself left alone, relapsed into sulky silence.
Excuse me and go on, said Mr. Harrison, sitting down again. My brother the sailor never taught that bird any manners.
I went home and after tea I went out to the milking pen. Mr. Harrison, Anne leaned forward, clasping her hands with her old childish gesture, while her big gray eyes gazed imploringly into Mr. Harrisons embarrassed face I found my cow still shut up in the pen. It was your cow I had sold to Mr. Shearer.
Bless my soul, exclaimed Mr. Harrison, in blank amazement at this unlooked-for conclusion. What a very extraordinary thing!
Oh, it isnt in the least extraordinary that I should be getting myself and other people into scrapes, said Anne mournfully. Im noted for that. You might suppose Id have grown out of it by this time Ill be seventeen next March but it seems that I havent. Mr. Harrison, is it too much to hope that youll forgive me? Im afraid its too late to get your cow back, but here is the money for her or you can have mine in exchange if youd rather. Shes a very good cow. And I cant express how sorry I am for it all.
Tut, tut, said Mr. Harrison briskly, dont say another word about it, miss. Its of no consequence no consequence whatever. Accidents will happen. Im too hasty myself sometimes, miss far too hasty. But I cant help speaking out just what I think and folks must take me as they find me. If that cow had been in my cabbages now but never mind, she wasnt, so its all right. I think Id rather have your cow in exchange, since you want to be rid of her.
Oh, thank you, Mr. Harrison. Im so glad you are not vexed. I was afraid you would be.
And I suppose you were scared to death to come here and tell me, after the fuss I made yesterday, hey? But you mustnt mind me, Im a terrible outspoken old fellow, thats all awful apt to tell the truth, no matter if it is a bit plain.
So is Mrs. Lynde, said Anne, before she could prevent herself.
Who? Mrs. Lynde? Dont you tell me Im like that old gossip, said Mr. Harrison irritably. Im not not a bit. What have you got in that box?
A cake, said Anne archly. In her relief at Mr. Harrisons unexpected amiability her spirits soared upward feather-light. I brought it over for you I thought perhaps you didnt have cake very often.
I dont, thats a fact, and Im mighty fond of it, too. Im much obliged to you. It looks good on top. I hope its good all the way through.
It is, said Anne, gaily confident. I have made cakes in my time that were not, as Mrs. Allan could tell you, but this one is all right. I made it for the Improvement Society, but I can make another for them.
Well, Ill tell you what, miss, you must help me eat it. Ill put the kettle on and well have a cup of tea. How will that do?
Will you let me make the tea? said Anne dubiously.
Mr. Harrison chuckled.
I see you havent much confidence in my ability to make tea. Youre wrong I can brew up as good a jorum of tea as you ever drank. But go ahead yourself. Fortunately it rained last Sunday, so theres plenty of clean dishes.
Anne hopped briskly up and went to work. She washed the teapot in several waters before she put the tea to steep. Then she swept the stove and set the table, bringing the dishes out of the pantry. The state of that pantry horrified Anne, but she wisely said nothing. Mr. Harrison told her where to find the bread and butter and a can of peaches. Anne adorned the table with a bouquet from the garden and shut her eyes to the stains on the tablecloth. Soon the tea was ready and Anne found herself sitting opposite Mr. Harrison at his own table, pouring his tea for him, and chatting freely to him about her school and friends and plans. She could hardly believe the evidence of her senses.
Mr. Harrison had brought Ginger back, averring that the poor bird would be lonesome; and Anne, feeling that she could forgive everybody and everything, offered him a walnut. But Gingers feelings had been grievously hurt and he rejected all overtures of friendship. He sat moodily on his perch and ruffled his feathers up until he looked like a mere ball of green and gold.
Why do you call him Ginger? asked Anne, who liked appropriate names and thought Ginger accorded not at all with such gorgeous plumage.
My brother the sailor named him. Maybe it had some reference to his temper. I think a lot of that bird though youd be surprised if you knew how much. He has his faults of course. That bird has cost me a good deal one way and another. Some people object to his swearing habits but he cant be broken of them. Ive tried other people have tried. Some folks have prejudices against parrots. Silly, aint it? I like them myself. Gingers a lot of company to me. Nothing would induce me to give that bird up nothing in the world, miss.
Mr. Harrison flung the last sentence at Anne as explosively as if he suspected her of some latent design of persuading him to give Ginger up. Anne, however, was beginning to like the queer, fussy, fidgety little man, and before the meal was over they were quite good friends. Mr. Harrison found out about the Improvement Society and was disposed to approve of it.
Thats right. Go ahead. Theres lots of room for improvement in this settlement and in the people too.
Oh, I dont know, flashed Anne. To herself, or to her particular cronies, she might admit that there were some small imperfections, easily removable, in Avonlea and its inhabitants. But to hear a practical outsider like Mr. Harrison saying it was an entirely different thing. I think Avonlea is a lovely place; and the people in it are very nice, too.
I guess youve got a spice of temper, commented Mr. Harrison, surveying the flushed cheeks and indignant eyes opposite him. It goes with hair like yours, I reckon. Avonlea is a pretty decent place or I wouldnt have located here; but I suppose even you will admit that it has some faults?