Anne Shirley (Complete 14 Book Collection). Люси Мод Монтгомери

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СКАЧАТЬ pool to pool, clasping her Bible and quarterly tightly and thinking with bitterness of soul of her beloved class where she should be sitting that very moment, before a teacher she adored. Instead, here she was roaming the woods with those half-wild Cottons, trying to keep her boots clean and her pretty white dress free from rents and stains. Mirabel had offered the loan of an apron but Dora had scornfully refused.

      The trout bit as they always do on Sundays. In an hour the transgressors had all the fish they wanted, so they returned to the house, much to Dora’s relief. She sat primly on a hencoop in the yard while the others played an uproarious game of tag; and then they all climbed to the top of the pighouse roof and cut their initials on the saddleboard. The flat-roofed henhouse and a pile of straw beneath gave Davy another inspiration. They spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof and diving off into the straw with whoops and yells.

      But even unlawful pleasures must come to an end. When the rumble of wheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home from church Davy knew they must go. He discarded Tommy’s overalls, resumed his own rightful attire, and turned away from his string of trout with a sigh. No use to think of taking them home.

      “Well, hadn’t we a splendid time?” he demanded defiantly, as they went down the hill field.

      “I hadn’t,” said Dora flatly. “And I don’t believe you had — really — either,” she added, with a flash of insight that was not to be expected of her.

      “I had so,” cried Davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest too much. “No wonder you hadn’t — just sitting there like a — like a mule.”

      “I ain’t going to, ‘sociate with the Cottons,” said Dora loftily.

      “The Cottons are all right,” retorted Davy. “And they have far better times than we have. They do just as they please and say just what they like before everybody. I’m going to do that, too, after this.”

      “There are lots of things you wouldn’t dare say before everybody,” averred Dora.

      “No, there isn’t.”

      “There is, too. Would you,” demanded Dora gravely, “would you say ‘tomcat’ before the minister?”

      This was a staggerer. Davy was not prepared for such a concrete example of the freedom of speech. But one did not have to be consistent with Dora.

      “Of course not,” he admitted sulkily.

      “‘Tomcat’ isn’t a holy word. I wouldn’t mention such an animal before a minister at all.”

      “But if you had to?” persisted Dora.

      “I’d call it a Thomas pussy,” said Davy.

      “I think ‘gentleman cat’ would be more polite,” reflected Dora.

      “YOU thinking!” retorted Davy with withering scorn.

      Davy was not feeling comfortable, though he would have died before he admitted it to Dora. Now that the exhilaration of truant delights had died away, his conscience was beginning to give him salutary twinges. After all, perhaps it would have been better to have gone to Sunday School and church. Mrs. Lynde might be bossy; but there was always a box of cookies in her kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy. At this inconvenient moment Davy remembered that when he had torn his new school pants the week before, Mrs. Lynde had mended them beautifully and never said a word to Marilla about them.

      But Davy’s cup of iniquity was not yet full. He was to discover that one sin demands another to cover it. They had dinner with Mrs. Lynde that day, and the first thing she asked Davy was,

      “Were all your class in Sunday School today?”

      “Yes’m,” said Davy with a gulp. “All were there—’cept one.”

      “Did you say your Golden Text and catechism?”

      “Yes’m.”

      “Did you put your collection in?”

      “Yes’m.”

      “Was Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson in church?”

      “I don’t know.” This, at least, was the truth, thought wretched Davy.

      “Was the Ladies’ Aid announced for next week?”

      “Yes’m” — 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. СКАЧАТЬ