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Anya from Avonlea
A
tall
,
slim
girl
,
“
half
-
past
sixteen
,
”
with
serious
gray
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
slendor
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
a
delicious
world
where
a
certain
schoolteacher
was
doing
a
wonderful
work
,
shaping
the
destinies
of
future
statesmen
,
and
inspiring
youthful
minds
and
hearts
with
high
and
lofty
ambitions
.
To
be
sure
,
if
you
came
down
to
harsh
facts
.
.
.
which
,
it
must
be
confessed
,
Anne
seldom
did
until
she
had
to
.
.
.
it
did
not
seem
likely
that
there
was
much
promising
material
for
celebrities
in
Avonlea
school
;
but
you
could
never
tell
what
might
happen
if
a
teacher
used
her
influence
for
good
.
Anne
had
certain
rose
-
tinted
ideals
of
what
a
teacher
might
accomplish
if
she
only
went
the
right
way
about
it
;
and
she
was
in
the
midst
of
a
delightful
scene
,
forty
years
hence
,
with
a
famous
personage
.
.
.
just
exactly
what
he
was
to
be
famous
for
was
left
in
convenient
haziness
,
but
Anne
thought
it
would
be
rather
nice
to
have
him
a
college
president
or
a
Canadian
premier
.
.
.
bowing
low
over
her
wrinkled
hand
and
assuring
her
that
it
was
she
who
had
first
kindled
his
ambition
,
and
that
all
his
success
in
life
was
due
to
the
lessons
she
had
instilled
so
long
ago
in
Avonlea
school
.
This
pleasant
vision
was
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
irruption
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
righthand
neighbor
and
she
had
never
met
him
before
,
although
she
had
seen
him
once
or
twice
.
In
early
April
,
before
Anne
had
come
home
from
Queen
’
s
,
Mr
.
Robert
Bell
,
whose
farm
adjoined
the
Cuthbert
place
on
the
west
,
had
sold
out
and
moved
to
Charlottetown
.
His
farm
had
been
bought
by
a
certain
Mr
.
J
.
A
.
Harrison
,
whose
name
,
and
the
fact
that
he
was
a
New
Brunswick
man
,
were
all
that
was
known
about
him
.
But
before
he
had
been
a
month
in
Avonlea
he
had
won
the
reputation
of
being
an
odd
person
.
.
.
“
a
crank
,
”
Mrs
.
Rachel
Lynde
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
fools
of
women
around
his
diggings
.
Feminine
Avonlea
took
its
revenge
by
the
gruesome
tales
it
related
about
his
house
-
keeping
and
cooking
.
He
had
hired
little
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
,
and
if
John
Henry
were
around
at
the
time
,
he
came
in
for
a
share
,
but
if
he
were
not
,
he
had
to
wait
until
Mr
.
Harrison
’
s
next
hungry
spell
.
John
Henry
mournfully
averred
that
he
would
have
starved
to
death
if
it
wasn
’
t
that
he
got
home
on
Sundays
and
got
a
good
filling
up
,
and
that
his
mother
always
gave
him
a
basket
of
“
grub
”
to
take
back
with
him
on
Monday
mornings
.
As
for
washing
dishes
,
Mr
.
Harrison
never
made
any
pretence
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
.
