“I guess you’ve got a spice of temper,” commented Mr. Harrison, surveying the flushed cheeks and indignant eyes opposite him.  “It goes with hair like yours, I reckon.  Avonlea is a pretty decent place or I wouldn’t have located here; but I suppose even you will admit that it has some faults?”

“I like it all the better for them,” said loyal Anne.  “I don’t like places or people either that haven’t any faults.  I think a truly perfect person would be very uninteresting.  Mrs. Milton White says she never met a perfect person, but she’s heard enough about one . . . her husband’s first wife.  Don’t you think it must be very uncomfortable to be married to a man whose first wife was perfect?”

“It would be more uncomfortable to be married to the perfect wife,” declared Mr. Harrison, with a sudden and inexplicable warmth.

When tea was over Anne insisted on washing the dishes, although Mr. Harrison assured her that there were enough in the house to do for weeks yet.  She would dearly have loved to sweep the floor also, but no broom was visible and she did not like to ask where it was for fear there wasn’t one at all.

“You might run across and talk to me once in a while,” suggested Mr. Harrison when she was leaving. “’Tisn’t far and folks ought to be neighborly.  I’m kind of interested in that society of yours.  Seems to me there’ll be some fun in it.  Who are you going to tackle first?”

“We are not going to meddle with people . . . it is only places we mean to improve,” said Anne, in a dignified tone.  She rather suspected that Mr. Harrison was making fun of the project.

When she had gone Mr. Harrison watched her from the window . . . a lithe, girlish shape, tripping lightheartedly across the fields in the sunset afterglow.

“I’m a crusty, lonesome, crabbed old chap,” he said aloud, “but there’s something about that little girl makes me feel young again . . . and it’s such a pleasant sensation I’d like to have it repeated once in a while.”

“Redheaded snippet,” croaked Ginger mockingly.

Mr. Harrison shook his fist at the parrot.

“You ornery bird,” he muttered, “I almost wish I’d wrung your neck when my brother the sailor brought you home.  Will you never be done getting me into trouble?”

Anne ran home blithely and recounted her adventures to Marilla, who had been not a little alarmed by her long absence and was on the point of starting out to look for her.

“It’s a pretty good world, after all, isn’t it, Marilla?” concluded Anne happily.  “Mrs. Lynde was complaining the other day that it wasn’t much of a world.  She said whenever you looked forward to anything pleasant you were sure to be more or less disappointed . . . perhaps that is true.  But there is a good side to it too.  The bad things don’t always come up to your expectations either . . . they nearly always turn out ever so much better than you think.  I looked