"Well, I'll tell you what, miss, you must help me eat it. I'll put the
kettle on and we'll have a cup of tea. How will that do?"

"Will you let me make the tea?" said Anne dubiously.

Mr. Harrison chuckled.

"I see you haven't much confidence in my ability to make tea. You're
wrong . . . I can brew up as good a jorum of tea as you ever drank. But go
ahead yourself. Fortunately it rained last Sunday, so there's plenty of
clean dishes."

Anne hopped briskly up and went to work. She washed the teapot in
several waters before she put the tea to steep. Then she swept the stove
and set the table, bringing the dishes out of the pantry. The state of
that pantry horrified Anne, but she wisely said nothing. Mr. Harrison
told her where to find the bread and butter and a can of peaches. Anne
adorned the table with a bouquet from the garden and shut her eyes to
the stains on the tablecloth. Soon the tea was ready and Anne found
herself sitting opposite Mr. Harrison at his own table, pouring his tea
for him, and chatting freely to him about her school and friends and
plans. She could hardly believe the evidence of her senses.

Mr. Harrison had brought Ginger back, averring that the poor bird would
be lonesome; and Anne, feeling that she could forgive everybody and
everything, offered him a walnut. But Ginger's feelings had been
grievously hurt and he rejected all overtures of friendship. He sat
moodily on his perch and ruffled his feathers up until he looked like a
mere ball of green and gold.