Аня з Авонлеї
I. An Irate Neighbor
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“Iamverysorry,”repeatedAnnefirmly,“butperhapsifyoukeptyourfencesinbetterrepairDollymightnothavebrokenin.ItisyourpartofthelinefencethatseparatesyouroatfieldfromourpastureandInoticedtheotherdaythatitwasnotinverygoodcondition.”
“Myfenceisallright,”snappedMr.Harrison,angrierthaneveratthiscarryingofthewarintotheenemy’scountry.“Thejailfencecouldn’tkeepademonofacowlikethatout.AndIcantellyou,youredheadedsnippet,thatifthecowisyours,asyousay,you’dbebetteremployedinwatchingheroutofotherpeople’sgrainthaninsittingroundreadingyellow-coverednovels,”...withascathingglanceattheinnocenttan-coloredVirgilbyAnne’sfeet.
SomethingatthatmomentwasredbesidesAnne’shair...whichhadalwaysbeenatenderpointwithher.
“I’dratherhaveredhairthannoneatall,exceptalittlefringeroundmyears,”sheflashed.
Theshottold,forMr.Harrisonwasreallyverysensitiveabouthisbaldhead.HisangerchokedhimupagainandhecouldonlyglarespeechlesslyatAnne,whorecoveredhertemperandfollowedupheradvantage.
“Icanmakeallowanceforyou,Mr.Harrison,becauseIhaveanimagination.IcaneasilyimaginehowverytryingitmustbetofindacowinyouroatsandIshallnotcherishanyhardfeelingsagainstyouforthethingsyou’vesaid.IpromiseyouthatDollyshallneverbreakintoyouroatsagain.IgiveyoumywordofhonoronTHATpoint.”
“Well,mindyoushedoesn’t,”mutteredMr.
