ere
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.

Again, Mr. Harrison was "close." When he was asked to subscribe to the
Rev. Mr. Allan's salary he said he'd wait and see how many dollars'
worth of good he got out of his preaching first . . . he didn't believe
in buying a pig in a poke. And when Mrs. Lynde went to ask for a
contribution to missions . . . and incidentally to see the inside of
the house . . . he told her there were more heathens among the old woman
gossips in Avonlea than anywhere else he knew of, and he'd cheerfully
contribute to a mission for Christianizing them if she'd undertake it.
Mrs. Rachel got herself away and said it was a mercy poor Mrs. Robert
Bell was safe in her grave, for it would have broken her heart to see
the state of her house in which she used to take so much pride.

"Why, she scrubbed the kitchen floor every second day," Mrs. Lynde told
Marilla Cuthbert indignantly, "and if you could see it now! I had to
hold up my skirts as I walked across it."

Finally, Mr. Harrison kept a parrot called Ginger. Nobody in Avonlea ha