unmistakable expression in their grave depths; and it was still more
disconcerting to find herself blushing hotly and uncomfortably under his gaze,
just as if—just as if—well, it was very embarrassing. Anne wished herself back
at Patty’s Place, where there was always somebody else about to take the edge
off a delicate situation. At Green Gables Marilla went promptly to Mrs. Lynde’s
domain when Gilbert came and insisted on taking the twins with her. The
significance of this was unmistakable and Anne was in a helpless fury over it.
Davy, however, was perfectly happy. He reveled in getting out in the morning
and shoveling out the paths to the well and henhouse. He gloried in the
Christmas-tide delicacies which Marilla and Mrs. Lynde vied with each other in
preparing for Anne, and he was reading an enthralling tale, in a school library
book, of a wonderful hero who seemed blessed with a miraculous faculty for
getting into scrapes from which he was usually delivered by an earthquake or a
volcanic explosion, which blew him high and dry out of his troubles, landed him
in a fortune, and closed the story with proper ECLAT.
“I tell you it’s a bully story, Anne,” he said ecstatically. “I’d ever so much
rather read it than the Bible.”
“Would you?” smiled Anne.
Davy peered curiously at her.
“You don’t seem a bit shocked, Anne. Mrs. Lynde was awful shocked when I
said it to her.”
“No, I’m not shocked, Davy. I think it’s quite natural that a nine-year-old boy
would sooner read an adventure story than the Bible. But when you are older I
hope and think that you will realize what a wonderful book the Bible is.”
“Oh, I think some parts of it are fine,” conceded Davy. “That story about
Joseph now—it’s bully. But if I’d been Joseph I wouldn’t have forgive the
brothers. No, siree, Anne. I’d have cut all their heads off. Mrs. Lynde was awful
mad when I said that and shut the Bible up and said she’d never read me any
more of it if I talked like that. So I don’t talk now when she reads it Sunday
afternoons; I just think things and say them to Milty Boulter next day in school. I
told Milty the story about Elisha and the bears and it scared him so he’s never
made fun of Mr. Harrison’s bald head once. Are there any bears on P.E. Island,
Anne? I want to know.”
“Not nowadays,” said Anne, absently, as the wind blew a scud of snow
against the window. “Oh, dear, will it ever stop storming.”
“God knows,” said Davy airily, preparing to resume his reading.