III

Mr. Harrison at Home

Mr. Harrison's house was an old-fashioned, low-eaved, whitewashed
structure, set against a thick spruce grove.

Mr. Harrison himself was sitting on his vineshaded veranda, in his shirt
sleeves, enjoying his evening pipe. When he realized who was coming up
the path he sprang suddenly to his feet, bolted into the house, and
shut the door. This was merely the uncomfortable result of his surprise,
mingled with a good deal of shame over his outburst of temper the day
before. But it nearly swept the remnant of her courage from Anne's
heart.

"If he's so cross now what will he be when he hears what I've done," she
reflected miserably, as she rapped at the door.

But Mr. Harrison opened it, smiling sheepishly, and invited her to enter
in a tone quite mild and friendly, if somewhat nervous. He had laid
aside his pipe and donned his coat; he offered Anne a very dusty chair
very politely, and her reception would have passed off pleasantly enough
if it had not been for the telltale of a parrot who was peering through
the bars of his cage with wicked golden eyes. No sooner had Anne seated
herself than Ginger exclaimed,

"Bless my soul, what's that redheaded snippet coming here for?"

It would be hard to say whose face was the redder, Mr. Harrison's or
Anne's.

"Don't you mind that parrot," said Mr. Harrison, casting a furious
glance at Ginger. "He's . . . he's always talking nonsense. I got him
from my brother who was a sailor. Sailors don't always use the choicest
language, and parrots are very imitative birds."

"So I should think," said poor Anne, the remembrance of her errand
quelling her resentment. She couldn't afford to snub Mr. Harrison under
the circumstances, that was certain. When you had just sold a man's
Jersey cow offhand, without his knowledge or consent you must not
mind if his parrot repeated uncomplimentary things. Nevertheless, the
"redheaded snippet" was not quite so meek as she might otherwise have
been.

"I've come to confess something to you, Mr. Harrison," she said
resolutely. "It's . . . it's 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.
It's no difference . . . none at all, I . . . I was too hasty yesterday,
that's a fact. Never mind if she has."

"Oh, if it were only that," sighed Anne. "But it's ten times worse. I
don't . . ."