simple truth; but when Jane Andrews, on her way home, confided to Oliver Sloane her firm belief that there was more behind Judson Parker’s mysterious change of heart than Anne Shirley had revealed, she spoke the truth also.
Anne had been down to old Mrs. Irving’s on the shore road the preceding evening and had come home by a short cut which led her first over the low-lying shore fields, and then through the beech wood below Robert Dickson’s, by a little footpath that ran out to the main road just above the Lake of Shining Waters . . . known to unimaginative people as Barry’s pond.
Two men were sitting in their buggies, reined off to the side of the road, just at the entrance of the path. One was Judson Parker; the other was Jerry Corcoran, a Newbridge man against whom, as Mrs. Lynde would have told you in eloquent italics, nothing shady had ever been proved. He was an agent for agricultural implements and a prominent personage in matters political. He had a finger . . . some people said all his fingers . . . in every political pie that was cooked; and as Canada was on the eve of a general election Jerry Corcoran had been a busy man for many weeks, canvassing the county in the interests of his party’s candidate. Just as Anne emerged from under the overhanging beech boughs she heard Corcoran say,
“If you’ll vote for Amesbury, Parker . . . well, I’ve a note for that pair of harrows you’ve got in the
