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?”
