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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.






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