“Excuse me and go on,” said Mr. Harrison, sitting down again.  “My brother the sailor never taught that bird any manners.”

“I went home and after tea I went out to the milking pen.  Mr. Harrison,” . . .  Anne leaned forward, clasping her hands with her old childish gesture, while her big gray eyes gazed imploringly into Mr. Harrison’s embarrassed face . . .  “I found my cow still shut up in the pen.  It was your cow I had sold to Mr. Shearer.”

“Bless my soul,” exclaimed Mr. Harrison, in blank amazement at this unlooked-for conclusion.  “What a very extraordinary thing!”

“Oh, it isn’t in the least extraordinary that I should be getting myself and other people into scrapes,” said Anne mournfully.  “I’m noted for that.  You might suppose I’d have grown out of it by this time . . .  I’ll be seventeen next March . . . but it seems that I haven’t.  Mr. Harrison, is it too much to hope that you’ll forgive me?  I’m afraid it’s too late to get your cow back, but here is the money for her . . . or you can have mine in exchange if you’d rather.  She’s a very good cow.  And I can’t express how sorry I am for it all.”

“Tut, tut,” said Mr. Harrison briskly, “don’t say another word about it, miss.  It’s of no consequence . . . no consequence whatever.  Accidents will happen.  I’m too hasty myself sometimes, miss . . . far too hasty.  But I can’t help speaking out just what I think and folks must take me as they find me.  If that cow had been in my cabbages now . . . but never mind, she wasn’t, so it’s all right.  I think I’d rather have your cow in exchange, since you want to be rid of her.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Harrison.  I’m so glad you are not vexed.  I was afraid you would be.”

“And I suppose you were scared to death to come here and tell me, after the fuss I made yesterday, hey?  But you mustn’t mind me, I’m a terrible outspoken old fellow, that’s all . . . awful apt to tell the truth, no matter if it is a bit plain.”

“So is Mrs. Lynde,” said Anne, before she could prevent herself.

“Who?  Mrs. Lynde?  Don’t you tell me I’m like that old gossip,” said Mr. Harrison irritably.  “I’m not . . . not a bit.  What have you got in that box?”

“A cake,” said Anne archly.  In her relief at Mr. Harrison’s unexpected amiability her spirits soared upward feather-light.  “I brought it over for you . . .  I thought perhaps you didn’t have cake very often.”

“I don’t, that’s a fact, and I’m mighty fond of it, too.  I’m much obliged to you.  It looks good on top.  I hope it’s good all the way through.”

“It is,” said Anne, gaily confident.  “I have made cakes in my time that were not, as Mrs. Allan could tell you, but this one is all right.  I made it for the Improvement Society, but I can make another for them.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what, miss, you must help me eat it.  I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea.  How will that do?”