“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 . . .”

“Bless my soul, do you mean to say she’s got into my wheat?”

“No . . . no . . . not the wheat.  But . . .”

“Then it’s the cabbages!  She’s broken into my cabbages that I was raising for Exhibition, hey?”

“It’s not the cabbages, Mr. Harrison.  I’ll tell you everything . . . that is what I came for—­but please don’t interrupt me.  It makes me so nervous.  Just let me tell my story and don’t say anything till I get through—­and then no doubt you’ll say plenty,” Anne concluded, but in thought only.

“I won’t say another word,” said Mr. Harrison, and he didn’t.  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 can’t 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 I’m 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 Ginger’s 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.