Night is falling over Avonlea.
And it's a perfect time for a bedtime story.
Tonight's tale is set in a village on Prince Edward Island in the early 1900s.
Tonight,
We follow Anne Shirley.
As she has a memorable summer.
Gets into a few scrapes.
And makes a new friend.
This selection is abridged from Anne of Avonlea.
By Lucy Maud Montgomery.
As you get comfortable in bed.
Take a moment.
To appreciate the pillow beneath your head.
The comfortable blanket that you can curl up under.
Remember that you are safe.
And that the day is over.
It's time to relax and to sleep.
Imagine the winding red roads of Prince Edward Island.
The sea lapping at the shore in the distance.
Imagine Farmers Fields.
On gentle slopes.
Beautiful orchards.
And lovely cliffs.
Take a moment.
To let your mind settle on your breath.
As you breathe in.
And out.
And out.
In.
And out.
And let your body relax as you listen to the story.
A tall,
Slim girl,
Half-past sixteen,
With serious grey eyes and hair,
Which her friends called Auburn,
Had sat down on the broad red sandstone doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one ripe afternoon in August,
Firmly resolved to construe so many lines of Virgil.
But an August afternoon,
With blue hazes scarfing the harvest slopes,
Little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars,
And a dancing slender of red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in a corner of the cherry orchard.
Was fitter for dreams than dead languages.
The Virgil soon slipped unheeded to the ground,
And Anne,
Her chin propped on her clasped hands,
And her eyes on the splendid mass of fluffy clouds that were heaping up just over Mr.
J.
A.
Harrison's house,
Like a great white mountain,
Was far away in imaginings.
Her pleasant thoughts were shattered by a most unpleasant interruption.
A demure little Jersey cow came scuttling down the lane,
And five seconds later,
Mr.
Harrison arrived.
If arrived,
Be not too mild a term.
To describe the manner of his eruption into the yard.
He bounced over the fence without waiting to open the gate.
And angrily confronted astonished Anne.
Who had risen to her feet and stood looking at him in some bewilderment.
Mr.
Harrison was their new right-hand neighbor,
And she had never met him before,
Although she had seen him once or twice.
Before he had been a month in Avonlea,
He had won the reputation of being an odd person.
A crank,
Mrs.
Rachel Lind said.
Mrs.
Rachel was an outspoken lady.
As those of you who may have already made her acquaintance will remember.
Mr.
Harrison was certainly different from other people.
And that is the essential characteristic of a crank,
As everybody knows.
In the first place,
He kept house for himself and had publicly stated that he wanted no women around his diggings.
Feminine Avonlea took its revenge by the gruesome tales it related about his housekeeping and cooking.
He had hired John Henry Carter of White Sands,
And John Henry started the stories.
For one thing,
There was never any stated time for meals in the Harrison establishment.
Mr.
Harrison got a bite when he felt hungry.
As for washing dishes,
Mr.
Harrison never made any pretense of doing it unless a rainy Sunday came.
Then he went to work and washed them all at once in the rainwater hogshead and left them to drain dry.
Finally,
Mr.
Harrison kept a parrot called Ginger.
Nobody in Avonlea had ever kept a parrot before.
Consequently,
That proceeding was considered barely respectable.
And such a parrot.
It swore terribly.
If you took John Henry Carter's word for it,
Never was such an unholy bird.
All these things flashed through Anne's mind as Mr.
Harrison stood,
Quite speechless with wrath apparently,
Before her.
All at once,
Mr.
Harrison found his voice.
I'm not going to put up with this,
He spluttered.
Not a day longer.
Do you hear me,
Miss?
Bless my soul.
This is the third time,
Miss.
The third time.
Patience has ceased to be a virtue,
Miss.
Will you explain what the trouble is?
Asked Anne in her most dignified manner.
She had been practicing it considerably of late to have it in good working order when school began.
But it had no apparent effect on the irate J.
A.
Harrison.
Trouble,
Is it?
Bless my soul,
Trouble enough I should think.
The trouble is,
Miss,
That I found that jersey cow of your aunt's in my oats 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.
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.
And she is my cow and not Miss Cuthbert's.
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 oat field 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.
A jail fence couldn't keep a demon of a cow like that out.
And I can tell you,
You red-headed 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 around reading yellow-covered novels with a scathing glance at the innocent tan-coloured Virgil by Anne's feet.
Something at that moment was red besides Anne's hair.
Which had always been a tender point with her.
I'd rather have red hair than none at all,
Except a little fringe round my ears.
" She flashed.
The shot told,
For Mr.
Harrison was really very sensitive about his bald head.
His anger choked him up again,
And he could only glare speechless at Anne,
Who recovered her temper and followed up her advantage.
I can make allowance for you,
Mr.
Harrison,
Because I have an imagination.
I can easily imagine how very trying it must be to find a cow in your oats,
And I shall not cherish any hard feelings against you for the things you've said.
I promise you that Dolly shall never break into your oats again.
I give you my word of honor on that point.
Mind you,
She doesn't.
Muttered Mr.
Harrison in a somewhat subdued tone.
But he stamped off angrily enough,
And Anne heard him growling to himself until he was out of earshot.
Grievously disturbed in mind,
Anne marched across the yard and shut the naughty jersey up in the milking pen.
She can't possibly get out of that unless she tears the fence down,
She reflected.
A few days later,
Anne and Diana Barry were returning from a shopping trip in Carmody.
A thundershower came up while the girls were away.
It did not last long,
However.
And the drive home,
Through lanes where raindrops sparkled on the boughs,
And little leafy valleys where the drenched ferns gave out spicy odors,
Was delightful.
But just as they turned into the Cuthbert Lane,
Anne saw something that spoiled the beauty of the landscape for her.
Before them,
On the right,
Extended Mr.
Harrison's broad,
Grey-green field of late oats,
Wet and luxuriant.
And there,
Standing squarely in the middle of it,
Up to her sleek sides in the lush grove,
And blinking at them calmly over the intervening tassels.
Was a Jersey cow.
Anne dropped the reins and stood up with a tightening of the lips that boded no good to the predatory quadruped.
Not a word,
Said she,
But she climbed nimbly down over the wheels and whisked across the fence before Diana understood what had happened.
And come back,
Shrieked the latter.
As soon as she found her voice.
You'll ruin your dress in that wet green.
Ruin it.
Oh,
She doesn't hear me.
Well,
She'll never get that cow out by herself.
I must go and help her,
Of course.
Anne was charging through the grain like a mad thing.
Diana hopped briskly down.
Tied the horse securely to a post,
Turned the skirt of her pretty gingham dress over her shoulders,
Mounted the fence,
And started in pursuit of her frantic friend.
She could run faster than Anne,
Who was hampered by her clinging and drenched skirt,
And soon overtook her.
Behind them,
They left a trail that would break Mr.
Harrison's heart when he should see it.
The Jersey cow appeared to see no good reason for being hustled out of her luscious browsing ground.
No sooner had the two breathless girls got near her than she turned and bolted squarely for the opposite corner of the field.
Head her off,
Screamed Anne.
Run,
Diana,
Run!
Diana did run.
Anne tried to,
And the wicked jersey went around the field as if she were possessed.
Privately Diana thought she was.
It was fully 10 minutes before they headed her off and drove her through the corner gap into the Cuthbert Lane.
There is no denying that Anne was in anything but an angelic temper at that precise moment.
Nor did it soothe her in the least,
To behold a buggy halted just outside the lane.
Wherein sat Mr.
Shearer of Carmody,
And his son.
Both of whom wore a broad smile.
I guess you'd better have sold me that cow when I wanted to buy her last weekend,
" chuckled Mr.
Shearer.
I'll sell her to you now if you want her,
" said her flushed and disheveled owner.
You may have her this very minute.
Done.
I'll give you 20 for her,
As I offered before.
And Jim here can drive her right over to Carmody.
She'll go to town with the rest of the shipment this evening.
Mr.
Reed of Brighton wants a Jersey cow.
Marilla had gone down to Mrs.
Lynde's,
And when she returned,
Knew all about Dolly's sale and transfer,
For Mrs.
Lynde had seen most of the transaction from her window,
And guessed the rest.
She 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.
And surely 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?
What is it you've done?
Sold Mr.
Harrison's jersey cow to Mr.
Shearer.
Dolly is out in the milking pen this very minute.
And Shirley,
Are you dreaming?
I only wish I were,
Oh Marilla.
I thought I'd finished getting into scrapes,
And here I am in the very worst one I ever was in my life.
What can I do?
Do?
There's nothing to do,
Child.
Except go and see Mr.
Harrison about it.
We can offer him our jersey in exchange if he doesn't want to take the money.
She is just as good as his.
I'm sure he'll be awfully cross and disagreeable about it though.
Moaned Anne.
I dare say he will.
He seems to be an irritable sort of man.
I'll go and explain to him if you like.
No,
Indeed,
I'm not as mean as that,
Exclaimed Anne.
This is all my fault,
And I'm certainly not going to let you take my punishment.
Poor Anne got her hat and her $20 and was passing out when she happened to glance through the open pantry door.
On the table reposed a nut cake.
Which she had baked that morning.
A particularly toothsome concoction iced with pink icing and adorned with walnuts.
Anne thought that cake ought to soften the heart of any man,
Especially one who had to do his own cooking.
And she promptly popped it in a box.
Mr.
Harrison himself was sitting on his vine-shaded 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 offered Anne a very dusty chair,
Very politely.
And her reception would have passed off pleasantly enough if it had not been for the tell-tale of a parrot who was peering through the bars of his cage with wicked golden eyes.
No sooner had Anne seated herself than Ginger exclaimed,
Bless my soul,
What's that redheaded snippet coming here for?
It would be hard to say whose face was the redder,
Mr.
Harrison's or Anne's.
Don't you mind that,
Parrot?
" said Mr.
Harrison,
Casting a furious glance at Ginger.
He's always talking nonsense.
I got him from my brother who was a sailor.
Sailors don't always use the choicest language,
And parrots are very imitative birds.
So I should think,
Said poor Anne.
The remembrance of her errand quelling her resentment.
When you had just sold a man's jersey cow off hand,
Without his knowledge or consent,
You must not mind if his parrot repeated uncomplimentary things.
I've come to confess something to you,
Mr.
Harrison,
" she said resolutely.
It's.
.
.
It's about that Jersey cow.
Has she gone and broken into my oats again?
Well,
Never mind.
Never mind if she has.
It's no difference.
None at all.
I.
.
.
I was too hasty yesterday,
That's a fact.
Oh,
If it were only that,
Sighed Anne.
But it's ten times worse.
Then it's my cabbages.
She's broken into my cabbages that I was raising for exhibition,
Eh?
It's not the cabbages,
Mr.
Harrison.
I shut my Jersey cow up in our pen yesterday.
This morning I saw a Jersey cow in your oats.
Diana and I chased her out,
And you can't imagine what a hard time we had.
I was so dreadfully wet and tired and vexed,
And Mr.
Shearer came by that very minute and offered to buy the cow.
I sold her to him on the spot for $20.
Mr.
Shearer took the cow right away to ship her on the afternoon train.
Red-headed snippet,
Quoted Ginger in a tone of profound contempt.
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.
Excuse me,
And go on,
" said Mr.
Harrison,
Sitting down again.
After tea,
I went out to the milking pen.
Mr.
Harrison,
I found my cow still shut up in the pen.
It was your cow I had sold to Mr.
Shearer.
Plus my soul!
" exclaimed Mr.
Harrison,
In blank amazement at this unlooked-for conclusion.
What a very extraordinary thing.
Oh,
It isn't 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.
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.
If that cow had been in my cabbages now.
But never mind.
She wasn't,
So it's all right.
I think I'd rather have your cow in exchange,
Since you want to be rid of her.
Oh,
Thank you,
Mr.
Harrison.
I'm so glad you are not vexed.
I was afraid you would be.
And I suppose you were scared to death to come here and tell me after the fuss I made yesterday,
Eh?
But you mustn't mind me.
I'm a terrible outspoken old fellow,
That's all.
Awful apt to tell the truth,
No matter if it is a bit plain.
So is Mrs.
Lind,
Said Anne before she could prevent herself.
Who?
Mrs.
Lynde?
Don't you tell me I'm like that old gossip,
" said Mr.
Harrison irritably.
I'm not.
Not a bit.
What have you got in that box?
A cake,
" said Anne.
In her relief at Mr.
Harrison's unexpected amiability,
Her spirits soared upward,
Feather light.
I brought it over for you.
I thought perhaps you didn't have cake very often.
I don't.
That's a fact.
And I'm mighty fond of it,
Too.
I'm much obliged to you.
I'll tell you what,
Miss.
You must help me eat it.
I'll put the kettle on and we'll have a cup of tea.
How will that do?
Anne ran home blithely and recounted her adventures to Marilla,
Who had been not a little alarmed by her long absence and was on the point of starting out to look for her.
It's a pretty good world after all,
Isn't it,
Marilla?
Concluded Anne happily.
I looked forward to a dreadfully unpleasant experience when I went over to Mr.
Harrison's tonight.
And instead,
He was quite kind,
And I had almost a nice time.
I think we're going to be real good friends if we make plenty of allowances for each other.
And everything has turned out for the best.
But all the same,
Marilla,
I shall certainly never again sell a cow before making sure to whom she belongs.
And I do not like parrots.
