bush comfortably after dark; and if I began imagining such things

about the old Boulter house I'd be frightened to pass it too.
Besides, those children aren't dead. They're all grown up and

doing well. . .and one of them is a butcher. And flowers and
songs couldn't have ghosts anyhow."

Anne smothered a little sigh. She loved Diana dearly and they had
always been good comrades. But she had long ago learned that when she

wandered into the realm of fancy she must go alone. The way to it was
by an enchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her.

A thunder-shower came up while the girls were at Carmody; it did
not last long, however, and the drive home, through lanes where the

raindrops sparkled on the boughs and little leafy valleys where the
drenched ferns gave out spicy odors, was delightful. But just as

they turned into the Cuthbert lane Anne saw something that spoiled
the beauty of the landscape for her.

Before them on the right extended Mr. Harrison's broad, gray-green
field of late oats, wet and luxuriant; and there, standingsquarely

in the middle of it, up to her sleek sides in the lush growth, and
blinking at them calmly over the intervening tassels, was a Jersey cow!

Anne dropped the reins and stood up with a tightening of the lips
that boded no good to the predatory quadruped. Not a word said she,

but she climbed nimbly down over the wheels, and whisked across the
fence before Diana understood what had happened.

"Anne, come back," shrieked the latter, as soon as she found
her voice. "You'll ruin your dress in that wet grain. . .ruin it.

She doesn't hear me! Well, she'll never get that cow out by herself.
I must go and help her, of course."

Anne was charging through the grain like a mad thing. Diana hopped
briskly down, tied the horse securely to a post, turned the skirt

of her pretty gingham dress over her shoulders, mounted the fence,
and started in pursuit of her frantic friend. She could run faster

than Anne, who was hampered by her clinging and drenched skirt, and
soon overtook her. Behind them they left a trail that would break

Mr. Harrison's heart when he should see it.
"Anne, for mercy's sake, stop," panted poor Diana. "I'm right out

of breath and you are wet to the skin."
"I must. . .get. . .that cow. . .out. . .before. . .Mr. Harrison.

. .sees her," gasped Anne. "I don't. . .care. . .if I'm. . .drowned
. . .if we. . .can. . .only. . .do that."

But the Jersey cow appeared to see no good reason for being hustled
out of her luscious browsing ground. No sooner had the two breathless

girls got near her than she turned and bolted squarely for the opposite
corner of the field.

"Head her off," screamed Anne. "Run, Diana, run."
Diana did run. Anne tried to, and the wicked Jersey went around

the field as if she were possessed. Privately, Diana thought she was.
It was fully ten minutes before they headed her off and drove her

through the corner gap into the Cuthbert lane.
There is no denying that Anne was in anything but an angelictemper

at that precise moment. Nor did it soothe her in the least to
behold a buggy halted just outside the lane, wherein sat Mr.

Shearer of Carmody and his son, both of whom wore a broad smile.
"I guess you'd better have sold me that cow when I wanted to buy

her last week, Anne," chuckled Mr. Shearer.
"I'll sell her to you now, if you want her," said her flushed and

disheveled owner. "You may have her this very minute."
"Done. I'll give you twenty for her as I offered before, and Jim

here can drive her right over to Carmody. She'll go to town with
the rest of the shipment this evening. Mr. Reed of Brighton wants

a Jersey cow."
Five minutes later Jim Shearer and the Jersey cow were marching up

the road, and impulsive Anne was driving along the Green Gables
lane with her twenty dollars.

"What will Marilla say?" asked Diana.
"Oh, she won't care. Dolly was my own cow and it isn't likely

she'd bring more than twenty dollars at the auction. But oh dear,
if Mr. Harrison sees that grain he will know she has been in

again, and after my giving him my word of honor that I'd never let
it happen! Well, it has taught me a lesson not to give my word of

honor about cows. A cow that could jump over or break through our
milk-pen fence couldn't be trusted anywhere."

Marilla had gone down to Mrs. Lynde's, and when she returned knew
all about Dolly's sale and transfer, for Mrs. Lynde had seen most

of the transaction from her window and guessed the rest.
"I suppose it's just as well she's gone, though you DO do things in

a dreadfulheadlong fashion, Anne. I don't see how she got out of
the pen, though. She must have broken some of the boards off."

"I didn't think of looking," said Anne, "but I'll go and see now.
Martin has never come back yet. Perhaps some more of his aunts

have died. I think it's something like Mr. Peter Sloane and the
octogenarians. The other evening Mrs. Sloane was reading a

newspaper and she said to Mr. Sloane, `I see here that another
octogenarian has just died. What is an octogenarian, Peter?' And

Mr. Sloane said he didn't know, but they must be very sickly
creatures, for you never heard tell of them but they were dying.

That's the way with Martin's aunts."
"Martin's just like all the rest of those French," said Marilla in disgust.

"You can't depend on them for a day." Marilla was looking over Anne's
Carmody purchases when she heard a shrillshriek in the barnyard.

A minute later Anne dashed into the kitchen, wringing her hands.
"Anne Shirley, what's the matter now?"

"Oh, Marilla, whatever shall I do? This is terrible. And it's all
my fault. Oh, will I EVER learn to stop and reflect a little

before doing reckless things? Mrs. Lynde always told me I would do
something dreadful some day, and now I've done it!"

"Anne, you are the most exasperating girl! WHAT is it you've done?"
"Sold Mr. Harrison's Jersey cow. . .the one he bought from Mr. Bell

. . .to Mr. Shearer! Dolly is out in the milking pen this very minute."
"Anne Shirley, are you dreaming?"

"I only wish I were. There's no dream about it, though it's very
like a nightmare. And Mr. Harrison's cow is in Charlottetown by

this time. Oh, Marilla, I thought I'd finished getting into scrapes,
and here I am in the very worst one I ever was in in my life.

What can I do?"
"Do? There's nothing to do, child, except go and see Mr. Harrison

about it. We can offer him our Jersey in exchange if he doesn't
want to take the money. She is just as good as his."

"I'm sure he'll be awfully cross and disagreeable about it, though,"
moaned Anne.

"I daresay he will. He seems to be an irritable sort of a man.
I'll go and explain to him if you like."

"No, indeed, I'm not as mean as that," exclaimed Anne. "This is all
my fault and I'm certainly not going to let you take my punishment.

I'll go myself and I'll go at once. The sooner it's over the better,
for it will be terribly humiliating."

Poor Anne got her hat and her twenty dollars and was passing out
when she happened to glance through the open pantry door. On the

table reposed a nut cake which she had baked that morning. . .a
particularly toothsome concoction iced with pink icing and adorned

with walnuts. Anne had intended it for Friday evening, when the
youth of Avonlea were to meet at Green Gables to organize the

Improvement Society. But what were they compared to the justly
offended Mr. Harrison? Anne thought that cake ought to soften the

heart of any man, especially one who had to do his own cooking, and
she promptly popped it into a box. She would take it to Mr. Harrison

as a peace offering.
"That is, if he gives me a chance to say anything at all," she