“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.”
“I’m afraid of those cows,” protested poor Dora, seeing a prospect of escape.
“The very idea of your being scared of those cows,” scoffed Davy. “Why,
they’re both younger than you.”
“They’re bigger,” said Dora.
“They won’t hurt you. Come along, now. This is great. When I grow up I ain’t
going to bother going to church at all. I believe I can get to heaven by myself.”
“You’ll go to the other place if you break the Sabbath day,” said unhappy
Dora, following him sorely against her will.
But Davy was not scared—yet. Hell was very far off, and the delights of a
fishing expedition with the Cottons were very near. He wished Dora had more
spunk. She kept looking back as if she were going to cry every minute, and that
spoiled a fellow’s fun. Hang girls, anyway. Davy did not say “darn” this time,
even in thought. He was not sorry—yet—that he had said it once, but it might be
as well not to tempt the Unknown Powers too far on one day.
The small Cottons were playing in their back yard, and hailed Davy’s
appearance with whoops of delight. Pete, Tommy, Adolphus, and Mirabel
Cotton were all alone. Their mother and older sisters were away. Dora was
thankful Mirabel was there, at least. She had been afraid she would be alone in a
crowd of boys. Mirabel was almost as bad as a boy—she was so noisy and
sunburned and reckless. But at least she wore dresses.
“We’ve come to go fishing,” announced Davy.
“Whoop,” yelled the Cottons. They rushed away to dig worms at once,
Mirabel leading the van with a tin can. Dora could have sat down and cried. Oh,