"Why do you call him Ginger?" asked Anne, who liked appropriate names
and thought Ginger accorded not at all with such gorgeous plumage.

"My brother the sailor named him. Maybe it had some reference to his
temper. I think a lot of that bird though . . . you'd be surprised if you
knew how much. He has his faults of course. That bird has cost me a good
deal one way and another. Some people object to his swearing habits but
he can't be broken of them. I've tried . . . other people have tried.
Some folks have prejudices against parrots. Silly, ain't it? I like them
myself. Ginger's a lot of company to me. Nothing would induce me to give
that bird up . . . nothing in the world, miss."

Mr. Harrison flung the last sentence at Anne as explosively as if he
suspected her of some latent design of persuading him to give Ginger up.
Anne, however, was beginning to like the queer, fussy, fidgety little
man, and before the meal was over they were quite good friends. Mr.
Harrison found out about the Improvement Society and was disposed to
approve of it.

"That's right. Go ahead. There's lots of room for improvement in this
settlement . . . and in the people too."

"Oh, I don't know," flashed Anne. To herself, or to her particular
cronies, she might admit that there were some small imperfections,
easily removable, in Avonlea and its inhabitants. But to hear a
practical outsider like Mr. Harrison saying it was an entirely different
thing. "I think Avonlea is a lovely place; and the people in it are very
nice, too."