know now just how people feel who are being led to execution."




III

Mr. Harrison at Home


Mr. Harrison's house was an old-fashioned, low-eaved, whitewashed
structure, set against a thick spruce grove.

Mr. Harrison himself was sitting on his vineshaded veranda, in his shirt
sleeves, enjoying his evening pipe. When he realized who was coming up
the path he sprang suddenly to his feet, bolted into the house, and
shut the door. This was merely the uncomfortable result of his surprise,
mingled with a good deal of shame over his outburst of temper the day
before. But it nearly swept the remnant of her courage from Anne's
heart.

"If he's so cross now what will he be when he hears what I've done," she
reflected miserably, as she rapped at the door.

But Mr. Harrison opened it, smiling sheepishly, and invited her to enter
in a tone quite mild and friendly, if somewhat nervous. He had laid
aside his pipe and donned his coat; he offered Anne a very dusty chair
very politely, and her reception would have passed off pleasantly enough
if it had not been for the telltale of a parrot who was peering through
the bars of his cage with wicked golden eyes. No sooner had Anne seated