At this point Mr. Harrison arose and, with an expression that would have
struck terror into any bird but a parrot, carried Ginger's cage into an
adjoining room and shut the door. Ginger shrieked, swore, and otherwise
conducted himself in keeping with his reputation, but finding himself
left alone, relapsed into sulky silence.

"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