green grass of the roadside, ankle deep into the fine dust which four weeks of rainless weather had made on the road, and marched along in it, shuffling his feet viciously until he was enveloped in a hazy cloud.
“That’s the beginning,” he announced triumphantly. “And I’m going to stop in the porch and talk as long as there’s anybody there to talk to. I’m going to squirm and wriggle and whisper, and I’m going to say I don’t know the Golden Text. And I’m going to throw away both of my collections right now.”
And Davy hurled cent and nickel over Mr. Barry’s fence with fierce delight.
“Satan made you do that,” said Dora reproachfully.
“He didn’t,” cried Davy indignantly. “I just thought it out for myself. And I’ve thought of something else. I’m not going to Sunday School or church at all. I’m going up to play with the Cottons. They told me yesterday they weren’t going to Sunday School today, ’cause their mother was away and there was nobody to make them. Come along, Dora, we’ll have a great time.”
“I don’t want to go,” protested Dora.
“You’ve got to,” said Davy. “If you don’t come I’ll tell Marilla that Frank Bell kissed you in school last Monday.”
“I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know he was going to,” cried Dora, blushing scarlet.
“Well, you didn’t slap him or seem a bit cross,” retorted Davy. “I’ll tell her that, too, if you don’t come. We’ll take the short cut up this field.”
