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this where Mr. James A. Harrison lives?” she inquired briskly.

      “No, Mr. Harrison lives over there,” said Anne, quite lost in astonishment.

      “Well, I DID think this place seemed too tidy … MUCH too tidy for James A. to be living here, unless he has greatly changed since I knew him,” chirped the little lady. “Is it true that James A. is going to be married to some woman living in this settlement?”

      “No, oh no,” cried Anne, flushing so guiltily that the stranger looked curiously at her, as if she half suspected her of matrimonial designs on Mr. Harrison.

      “But I saw it in an Island paper,” persisted the Fair Unknown. “A friend sent a marked copy to me … friends are always so ready to do such things. James A.’s name was written in over ‘new citizen.’”

      “Oh, that note was only meant as a joke,” gasped Anne. “Mr. Harrison has no intention of marrying ANYBODY. I assure you he hasn’t.”

      “I’m very glad to hear it,” said the rosy lady, climbing nimbly back to her seat in the wagon, “because he happens to be married already. I am his wife. Oh, you may well look surprised. I suppose he has been masquerading as a bachelor and breaking hearts right and left. Well, well, James A.,” nodding vigorously over the fields at the long white house, “your fun is over. I am here … though I wouldn’t have bothered coming if I hadn’t thought you were up to some mischief. I suppose,” turning to Anne, “that parrot of his is as profane as ever?”

      “His parrot … is dead … I THINK,” gasped poor Anne, who couldn’t have felt sure of her own name at that precise moment.

      “Dead! Everything will be all right then,” cried the rosy lady jubilantly. “I can manage James A. if that bird is out of the way.”

      With which cryptic utterance she went joyfully on her way and Anne flew to the kitchen door to meet Marilla.

      “Anne, who was that woman?”

      “Marilla,” said Anne solemnly, but with dancing eyes, “do I look as if I were crazy?”

      “Not more so than usual,” said Marilla, with no thought of being sarcastic.

      “Well then, do you think I am awake?”

      “Anne, what nonsense has got into you? Who was that woman, I say?”

      “Marilla, if I’m not crazy and not asleep she can’t be such stuff as dreams are made of … she must be real. Anyway, I’m sure I couldn’t have imagined such a bonnet. She says she is Mr. Harrison’s wife, Marilla.”

      Marilla stared in her turn.

      “His wife! Anne Shirley! Then what has he been passing himself off as an unmarried man for?”

      “I don’t suppose he did, really,” said Anne, trying to be just. “He never said he wasn’t married. People simply took it for granted. Oh Marilla, what will Mrs. Lynde say to this?”

      They found out what Mrs. Lynde had to say when she came up that evening. Mrs. Lynde wasn’t surprised! Mrs. Lynde had always expected something of the sort! Mrs. Lynde had always known there was SOMETHING about Mr. Harrison!

      “To think of his deserting his wife!” she said indignantly. “It’s like something you’d read of in the States, but who would expect such a thing to happen right here in Avonlea?”

      “But we don’t know that he deserted her,” protested Anne, determined to believe her friend innocent till he was proved guilty. “We don’t know the rights of it at all.”

      “Well, we soon will. I’m going straight over there,” said Mrs. Lynde, who had never learned that there was such a word as delicacy in the dictionary. “I’m not supposed to know anything about her arrival, and Mr. Harrison was to bring some medicine for Thomas from Carmody today, so that will be a good excuse. I’ll find out the whole story and come in and tell you on the way back.”

      Mrs. Lynde rushed in where Anne had feared to tread. Nothing would have induced the latter to go over to the Harrison place; but she had her natural and proper share of curiosity and she felt secretly glad that Mrs. Lynde was going to solve the mystery. She and Marilla waited expectantly for that good lady’s return, but waited in vain. Mrs. Lynde did not revisit Green Gables that night. Davy, arriving home at nine o’clock from the Boulter place, explained why.

      “I met Mrs. Lynde and some strange woman in the Hollow,” he said, “and gracious, how they were talking both at once! Mrs. Lynde said to tell you she was sorry it was too late to call tonight. Anne, I’m awful hungry. We had tea at Milty’s at four and I think Mrs. Boulter is real mean. She didn’t give us any preserves or cake … and even the bread was skurce.”

      “Davy, when you go visiting you must never criticize anything you are given to eat,” said Anne solemnly. “It is very bad manners.”

      “All right … I’ll only think it,” said Davy cheerfully. “Do give a fellow some supper, Anne.”

      Anne looked at Marilla, who followed her into the pantry and shut the door cautiously.

      “You can give him some jam on his bread, I know what tea at Levi Boulter’s is apt to be.”

      Davy took his slice of bread and jam with a sigh.

      “It’s a kind of disappointing world after all,” he remarked. “Milty has a cat that takes fits … she’s took a fit regular every day for three weeks. Milty says it’s awful fun to watch her. I went down today on purpose to see her have one but the mean old thing wouldn’t take a fit and just kept healthy as healthy, though Milty and me hung round all the afternoon and waited. But never mind” … Davy brightened up as the insidious comfort of the plum jam stole into his soul … “maybe I’ll see her in one sometime yet. It doesn’t seem likely she’d stop having them all at once when she’s been so in the habit of it, does it? This jam is awful nice.”

      Davy had no sorrows that plum jam could not cure.

      Sunday proved so rainy that there was no stirring abroad; but by Monday everybody had heard some version of the Harrison story. The school buzzed with it and Davy came home, full of information.

      “Marilla, Mr. Harrison has a new wife … well, not ezackly new, but they’ve stopped being married for quite a spell, Milty says. I always s’posed people had to keep on being married once they’d begun, but Milty says no, there’s ways of stopping if you can’t agree. Milty says one way is just to start off and leave your wife, and that’s what Mr. Harrison did. Milty says Mr. Harrison left his wife because she throwed things at him … HARD things … and Arty Sloane says it was because she wouldn’t let him smoke, and Ned Clay says it was ‘cause she never let up scolding him. I wouldn’t leave MY wife for anything like that. I’d just put my foot down and say, ‘Mrs. Davy, you’ve just got to do what’ll please ME ‘cause I’m a MAN.’ THAT’D settle her pretty quick I guess. But Annetta Clay says SHE left HIM because he wouldn’t scrape his boots at the door and she doesn’t blame her. I’m going right over to Mr. Harrison’s this minute to see what she’s like.”

      Davy soon returned, somewhat cast down.

      “Mrs. Harrison was away … she’s gone to Carmody with Mrs. Rachel Lynde to get new paper for the parlor. And Mr. Harrison said to tell Anne to go over and see him ‘cause he wants to have a talk with her. And say, the floor is scrubbed, and Mr. Harrison is shaved, though there wasn’t any preaching yesterday.”

      The Harrison kitchen wore a very unfamiliar look to Anne. The floor was indeed scrubbed to a wonderful pitch of purity and so was every article of furniture in the room; the stove was polished until she could see her face in it; the walls were whitewashed and the window panes sparkled in the sunlight. By the table sat Mr. Harrison in his working clothes, which on Friday had been noted for sundry rents and tatters but which were now neatly patched and brushed. He was sprucely shaved and what little hair he

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