think it's something like Mr. Peter Sloane and the octogenarians. The
other evening Mrs. Sloane was reading a newspaper and she said to Mr.
Sloane, 'I see here that another octogenarian has just died. What is an
octogenarian, Peter?' And Mr. Sloane said he didn't know, but they must
be very sickly creatures, for you never heard tell of them but they were
dying. That's the way with Martin's aunts."

"Martin's just like all the rest of those French," said Marilla in
disgust. "You can't depend on them for a day." Marilla was looking over
Anne's Carmody purchases when she heard a shrill shriek in the barnyard.
A minute later Anne dashed into the kitchen, wringing her hands.

"Anne Shirley, what's the matter now?"

"Oh, Marilla, whatever shall I do? This is terrible. And it's all my
fault. Oh, will I EVER learn to stop and reflect a little before doing
reckless things? Mrs. Lynde always told me I would do something dreadful
some day, and now I've done it!"

"Anne, you are the most exasperating girl! WHAT is it you've done?"

"Sold Mr. Harrison's Jersey cow . . . the one he bought from Mr. Bell
. . . to Mr. Shearer! Dolly is out in the milking pen this very minute."

"Anne Shirley, are you dreaming?"

"I only wish I were. There's no dream about it, though it's very like a
nightmare. And Mr. Harrison's cow is in Charlottetown by this time. Oh,
Marilla, I thought I'd finished getting into scrapes, and here I am in
the very worst one I ever was in in my life. What can I do?"