John Henry away at once if she had been sure she could get another
place for him. Besides, Ginger had
bitten a piece right out of the
back of John Henry's neck one day when he had stooped down too near
the cage. Mrs. Carter showed everybody the mark when the luckless
John Henry went home on Sundays.
All these things flashed through Anne's mind as Mr. Harrison stood,
quite
speechless with wrath
apparently, before her. In his
most
amiable mood Mr. Harrison could not have been considered a
handsome man; he was short and fat and bald; and now, with his
round face
purple with rage and his
prominent blue eyes almost
sticking out of his head, Anne thought he was really the ugliest
person she had ever seen.
All at once Mr. Harrison found his voice.
"I'm not going to put up with this," he spluttered, "not a day longer,
do you hear, miss. Bless my soul, this is the third time, miss. . .
the third time! Patience has ceased to be a
virtue, miss.
I warned your aunt the last time not to let it occur again. . .
and she's let it. . .she's done it. . .what does she mean by it,
that is what I want to know. That is what I'm here about, miss."
"Will you explain what the trouble is?" asked Anne, in her most
dignified manner. She had been practicing it
considerably of late
to have it in good
working order when school began; but it had no
apparent effect on the irate J. A. Harrison.
"Trouble, is it? Bless my soul, trouble enough, I should think.
The trouble is, miss, that I found that Jersey cow of your aunt's
in my oats again, not half an hour ago. The third time, mark you.
I found her in last Tuesday and I found her in
yesterday. I came
here and told your aunt not to let it occur again. She has let it
occur again. Where's your aunt, miss? I just want to see her for
a minute and give her a piece of my mind. . .a piece of J. A.
Harrison's mind, miss."
"If you mean Miss Marilla Cuthbert, she is not my aunt, and she has
gone down to East Grafton to see a distant
relative of hers who is
very ill," said Anne, with due increase of
dignity at every word.
"I am very sorry that my cow should have broken into your oats. . .
she is my cow and not Miss Cuthbert's. . .Matthew gave her to me three
years ago when she was a little calf and he bought her from Mr. Bell."
"Sorry, miss! Sorry isn't going to help matters any. You'd better
go and look at the havoc that animal has made in my oats. . .trampled
them from center to
circumference, miss."
"I am very sorry,"
repeated Anne
firmly, "but perhaps if you kept your
fences in better
repair Dolly might not have broken in. It is your
part of the line fence that separates your oatfield from our
pasture and
I noticed the other day that it was not in very good condition."
"My fence is all right," snapped Mr. Harrison, angrier than ever
at this carrying of the war into the enemy's country. "The jail
fence couldn't keep a demon of a cow like that out. And I can tell
you, you redheaded snippet, that if the cow is yours, as you say,
you'd be better employed in watching her out of other people's
grain than in sitting round
reading yellowcovered novels,". . .with
a scathing glance at the
innocent tan-colored Virgil by Anne's feet.
Something at that moment was red besides Anne's hair. . .which had
always been a tender point with her.
"I'd rather have red hair than none at all, except a little fringe
round my ears," she flashed.
The shot told, for Mr. Harrison was really very
sensitive about
his bald head. His anger choked him up again and he could only
glare
speechlessly at Anne, who recovered her
temper and followed
up her advantage.
"I can make
allowance for you, Mr. Harrison, because I have an
imagination. I can easily imagine how very
trying it must be to
find a cow in your oats and I shall not
cherish any hard feelings
against you for the things you've said. I promise you that Dolly
shall never break into your oats again. I give you my word of
honor on THAT point."
"Well, mind you she doesn't," muttered Mr. Harrison in a somewhat
subdued tone; but he stamped off
angrily enough and Anne heard him
growling to himself until he was out of earshot.
Grievously disturbed in mind, Anne marched across the yard and
shut the
naughty Jersey up in the milking pen.
"She can't possibly get out of that unless she tears the fence down,"
she reflected. "She looks pretty quiet now. I daresay she
has sickened herself on those oats. I wish I'd sold her to Mr.