LITMIR.BIZ

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— quakingly.

      “Was prayer-meeting?”

      “I — I don’t know.”

      “YOU should know. You should listen more attentively to the announcements. What was Mr. Harvey’s text?”

      Davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last protest of conscience together. He glibly recited an old Golden Text learned several weeks ago. Fortunately Mrs. Lynde now stopped questioning him; but Davy did not enjoy his dinner.

      He could only eat one helping of pudding.

      “What’s the matter with you?” demanded justly astonished Mrs. Lynde. “Are you sick?”

      “No,” muttered Davy.

      “You look pale. You’d better keep out of the sun this afternoon,” admonished Mrs. Lynde.

      “Do you know how many lies you told Mrs. Lynde?” asked Dora reproachfully, as soon as they were alone after dinner.

      Davy, goaded to desperation, turned fiercely.

      “I don’t know and I don’t care,” he said. “You just shut up, Dora Keith.”

      Then poor Davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the woodpile to think over the way of transgressors.

      Green Gables was wrapped in darkness and silence when Anne reached home. She lost no time going to bed, for she was very tired and sleepy. There had been several Avonlea jollifications the preceding week, involving rather late hours. Anne’s head was hardly on her pillow before she was half asleep; but just then her door was softly opened and a pleading voice said, “Anne.”

      Anne sat up drowsily.

      “Davy, is that you? What is the matter?”

      A white-clad figure flung itself across the floor and on to the bed.

      “Anne,” sobbed Davy, getting his arms about her neck. “I’m awful glad you’re home. I couldn’t go to sleep till I’d told somebody.”

      “Told somebody what?”

      “How mis’rubul I am.”

      “Why are you miserable, dear?”

      “‘Cause I was so bad today, Anne. Oh, I was awful bad — badder’n I’ve ever been yet.”

      “What did you do?”

      “Oh, I’m afraid to tell you. You’ll never like me again, Anne. I couldn’t say my prayers tonight. I couldn’t tell God what I’d done. I was ‘shamed to have Him know.”

      “But He knew anyway, Davy.”

      “That’s what Dora said. But I thought p’raps He mightn’t have noticed just at the time. Anyway, I’d rather tell you first.”

      “WHAT is it you did?”

      Out it all came in a rush.

      “I run away from Sunday School — and went fishing with the Cottons — and I told ever so many whoppers to Mrs. Lynde — oh! ‘most half a dozen — and — and — I — I said a swear word, Anne — a pretty near swear word, anyhow — and I called God names.”

      There was silence. Davy didn’t know what to make of it. Was Anne so shocked that she never would speak to him again?

      “Anne, what are you going to do to me?” he whispered.

      “Nothing, dear. You’ve been punished already, I think.”

      “No, I haven’t. Nothing’s been done to me.”

      “You’ve been very unhappy ever since you did wrong, haven’t you?”

      “You bet!” said Davy emphatically.

      “That was your conscience punishing you, Davy.”

      “What’s my conscience? I want to know.”

      “It’s something in you, Davy, that always tells you when you are doing wrong and makes you unhappy if you persist in doing it. Haven’t you noticed that?”

      “Yes, but I didn’t know what it was. I wish I didn’t have it. I’d have lots more fun. Where is my conscience, Anne? I want to know. Is it in my stomach?”

      “No, it’s in your soul,” answered Anne, thankful for the darkness, since gravity must be preserved in serious matters.

      “I s’pose I can’t get clear of it then,” said Davy with a sigh. “Are you going to tell Marilla and Mrs. Lynde on me, Anne?”

      “No, dear, I’m not going to tell any one. You are sorry you were naughty, aren’t you?”

      “You bet!”

      “And you’ll never be bad like that again.”

      “No, but—” added Davy cautiously, “I might be bad some other way.”

      “You won’t say naughty words, or run away on Sundays, or tell falsehoods to cover up your sins?”

      “No. It doesn’t pay,” said Davy.

      “Well, Davy, just tell God you are sorry and ask Him to forgive you.”

      “Have YOU forgiven me, Anne?”

      “Yes, dear.”

      “Then,” said Davy joyously, “I don’t care much whether God does or not.”

      “Davy!”

      “Oh — I’ll ask Him — I’ll ask Him,” said Davy quickly, scrambling off the bed, convinced by Anne’s tone that he must have said something dreadful. “I don’t mind asking Him, Anne. — Please, God, I’m awful sorry I behaved bad today and I’ll try to be good on Sundays always and please forgive me. — There now, Anne.”

      “Well, now, run off to bed like a good boy.”

      “All right. Say, I don’t feel mis’rubul any more. I feel fine. Good night.”

      “Good night.”

      Anne slipped down on her pillows with a sigh of relief. Oh — how sleepy — she was! In another second —

      “Anne!” Davy was back again by her bed. Anne dragged her eyes open.

      “What is it now, dear?” she asked, trying to keep a note of impatience out of her voice.

      “Anne, have you ever noticed how Mr. Harrison spits? Do you s’pose, if I practice hard, I can learn to spit just like him?”

      Anne sat up.

      “Davy Keith,” she said, “go straight to your bed and don’t let me catch you out of it again tonight! Go, now!”

      Davy went, and stood not upon the order of his going.

      Chapter XIV

      The Summons

      Table of Contents

      Anne was sitting with Ruby Gillis in the Gillis’ garden after the day had crept lingeringly through it and was gone. It had been a warm, smoky summer afternoon. The world was in a splendor of outflowering. The idle valleys were full of hazes. The woodways were pranked with shadows and the fields with the purple of the asters.

      Anne had given up a moonlight drive to the White Sands beach that she might spend the evening with Ruby. She had so spent many evenings that summer, although she often wondered what good it did any one, and sometimes went home deciding that she could not go again.

      Ruby grew paler as the summer waned; the White

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