“Mrs. Lynde has come up to give me good advice about tomorrow,” thought Anne with a grimace, “but I don’t believe I’ll go in.  Her advice is much like pepper, I think . . . excellent in small quantities but rather scorching in her doses.  I’ll run over and have a chat with Mr. Harrison instead.”

This was not the first time Anne had run over and chatted with Mr. Harrison since the notable affair of the Jersey cow.  She had been there several evenings and Mr. Harrison and she were very good friends, although there were times and seasons when Anne found the outspokenness on which he prided himself rather trying.  Ginger still continued to regard her with suspicion, and never failed to greet her sarcastically as “redheaded snippet.”  Mr. Harrison had tried vainly to break him of the habit by jumping excitedly up whenever he saw Anne coming and exclaiming,

“Bless my soul, here’s that pretty little girl again,” or something equally flattering.  But Ginger saw through the scheme and scorned it.  Anne was never to know how many compliments Mr. Harrison paid her behind her back.  He certainly never paid her any to her face.

“Well, I suppose you’ve been back in the woods laying in a supply of switches for tomorrow?” was his greeting as Anne came up the veranda steps.

“No, indeed,” said Anne indignantly.  She was an excellent target for teasing because she always took things so seriously.  “I shall never have a switch in my school, Mr. Harrison.  Of course, I shall have to have a pointer, but I shall use it for pointing only.”

“So you mean to strap them instead?  Well, I don’t know but you’re right.  A switch stings more at the time but the strap smarts longer, that’s a fact.”

“I shall not use anything of the sort.  I’m not going to whip my pupils.”

“Bless my soul,” exclaimed Mr. Harrison in genuine astonishment, “how do you lay out to keep order then?”

“I shall govern by affection, Mr. Harrison.”

“It won’t do,” said Mr. Harrison, “won’t do at all, Anne.  ’Spare the rod and spoil the child.’  When I went to school the master whipped me regular every day because he said if I wasn’t in mischief just then I was plotting it.”

“Methods have changed since your schooldays, Mr. Harrison.”

“But human nature hasn’t.  Mark my words, you’ll never manage the young fry unless you keep a rod in pickle for them.  The thing is impossible.”

“Well, I’m going to try my way first,” said Anne, who had a fairly strong will of her own and was apt to cling very tenaciously to her theories.

“You’re pretty stubborn, I reckon,” was Mr. Harrison’s way of putting it.  “Well, well, we’ll see.  Someday when you get riled up . . . and people with hair like yours are desperate apt to get riled . . . you’ll forget all your pretty little notions and give some of them a whaling.  You’re too young to be teaching anyhow . . . far too young and childish.”