again, not half an hour ago. The third time, mark you. I found her in
last Tuesday and I found her in yesterday. I came here and told your
aunt not to let it occur again. She has let it occur again. Where's your
aunt, miss? I just want to see her for a minute and give her a piece of
my mind . . . a piece of J. A. Harrison's mind, miss."

"If you mean Miss Marilla Cuthbert, she is not my aunt, and she has gone
down to East Grafton to see a distant relative of hers who is very ill,"
said Anne, with due increase of dignity at every word. "I am very sorry
that my cow should have broken into your oats . . . she is my cow and not
Miss Cuthbert's . . . Matthew gave her to me three years ago when she was
a little calf and he bought her from Mr. Bell."

"Sorry, miss! Sorry isn't going to help matters any. You'd better go and
look at the havoc that animal has made in my oats . . . trampled them from
center to circumference, miss."

"I am very sorry," repeated Anne firmly, "but perhaps if you kept your
fences in better repair Dolly might not have broken in. It is your part
of the line fence that separates your oatfield from our pasture and I
noticed the other day that it was not in very good condition."

"My fence is all right," snapped Mr. Harrison, angrier than ever at this
carrying of the war into the enemy's country. "The jail fence couldn't
keep a demon of a cow like that out. And I can tell you, you redheaded
snippet, that if the cow is yours, as you say, you'd be better employed
in watching her out of other people's grain than in sitting round
reading yellow-covered novels," . . . with a scathing glance at the
innocent tan-colored Virgil by Anne's feet.