“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?”
