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III. Mr. Harrison at Home
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“SoIshouldthink,”saidpoorAnne,theremembranceofhererrandquellingherresentment.Shecouldn’taffordtosnubMr.Harrisonunderthecircumstances,thatwascertain.Whenyouhadjustsoldaman’sJerseycowoffhand,withouthisknowledgeorconsentyoumustnotmindifhisparrotrepeateduncomplimentarythings.Nevertheless,the“redheadedsnippet”wasnotquitesomeekasshemightotherwisehavebeen.
“I’vecometoconfesssomethingtoyou,Mr.Harrison,”shesaidresolutely.“It’s...it’sabout...thatJerseycow.”
“Blessmysoul,”exclaimedMr.Harrisonnervously,“hasshegoneandbrokenintomyoatsagain?Well,nevermind...nevermindifshehas.It’snodifference...noneatall,I...Iwastoohastyyesterday,that’safact.Nevermindifshehas.”
“Oh,ifitwereonlythat,”sighedAnne.“Butit’stentimesworse.Idon’t...”
“Blessmysoul,doyoumeantosayshe’sgotintomywheat?”
“No...no...notthewheat.But...”
“Thenit’sthecabbages!She’sbrokenintomycabbagesthatIwasraisingforExhibition,hey?”
“It’sNOTthecabbages,Mr.Harrison.I’lltellyoueverything...thatiswhatIcamefor—butpleasedon’tinterruptme.Itmakesmesonervous.Justletmetellmystoryanddon’tsayanythingtillIgetthrough—andthennodoubtyou’llsayplenty,”Anneconcluded,butinthoughtonly.
“Iwon’tsayanotherword,”saidMr.Harrison,andhedidn’t.
