It mustn't be spoiled -- I won't let it. Oh, WHY can't boys be just sensible!"Anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" that she should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of Gilbert's, as distinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had rested there; and still less sensible that the sensation was far from being an unpleasant one -- very different from that which had attended a similar demonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, when she had been sitting out a dance with him at a White Sands party three nights before. Anne shivered over the disagreeable recollection. But all problems connected with infatuated swains vanished from her mind when she entered the homely, unsentimental atmosphere of the Green Gables kitchen where an eight-year-old boy was crying grievously on the sofa.
"What is the matter, Davy?" asked Anne, taking him up in her arms.
"Where are Marilla and Dora?"
"Marilla's putting Dora to bed," sobbed Davy, "and I'm crying 'cause Dora fell down the outside cellar steps, heels over head, and scraped all the skin off her nose, and -- ""Oh, well, don't cry about it, dear. Of course, you are sorry for her, but crying won't help her any. She'll be all right tomorrow. Crying never helps any one, Davy-boy, and -- ""I ain't crying 'cause Dora fell down cellar," said Davy, cutting short Anne's wellmeant preachment with increasing bitterness.
"I'm crying, cause I wasn't there to see her fall. I'm always missing some fun or other, seems to me.""Oh, Davy!" Anne choked back an unholy shriek of laughter.
"Would you call it fun to see poor little Dora fall down the steps and get hurt?""She wasn't MUCH hurt," said Davy, defiantly. "'Course, if she'd been killed I'd have been real sorry, Anne. But the Keiths ain't so easy killed. They're like the Blewetts, I guess. Herb Blewett fell off the hayloft last Wednesday, and rolled right down through the turnip chute into the box stall, where they had a fearful wild, cross horse, and rolled right under his heels.
And still he got out alive, with only three bones broke. Mrs.
Lynde says there are some folks you can't kill with a meat-axe.
Is Mrs. Lynde coming here tomorrow, Anne?""Yes, Davy, and I hope you'll be always very nice and good to her.""I'll be nice and good. But will she ever put me to bed at nights, Anne?""Perhaps. Why?"
"'Cause," said Davy very decidedly, "if she does I won't say my prayers before her like I do before you, Anne.""Why not?"
"'Cause I don't think it would be nice to talk to God before strangers, Anne. Dora can say hers to Mrs. Lynde if she likes, but _I_ won't. I'll wait till she's gone and then say 'em. Won't that be all right, Anne?""Yes, if you are sure you won't forget to say them, Davy-boy.""Oh, I won't forget, you bet. I think saying my prayers is great fun.
But it won't be as good fun saying them alone as saying them to you.
I wish you'd stay home, Anne. I don't see what you want to go away and leave us for.""I don't exactly WANT to, Davy, but I feel I ought to go.""If you don't want to go you needn't. You're grown up. When _I_'m grown up I'm not going to do one single thing I don't want to do, Anne.""All your life, Davy, you'll find yourself doing things you don't want to do.""I won't," said Davy flatly. "Catch me! I have to do things Idon't want to now 'cause you and Marilla'll send me to bed if I don't.
But when I grow up you can't do that, and there'll be nobody to tell me not to do things. Won't I have the time! Say, Anne, Milty Boulter says his mother says you're going to college to see if you can catch a man.
Are you, Anne? I want to know."
For a second Anne burned with resentment. Then she laughed, reminding herself that Mrs. Boulter's crude vulgarity of thought and speech could not harm her.
"No, Davy, I'm not. I'm going to study and grow and learn about many things.""What things?"
"`Shoes and ships and sealing wax And cabbages and kings,'"quoted Anne.
"But if you DID want to catch a man how would you go about it?
I want to know," persisted Davy, for whom the subject evidently possessed a certain fascination.
"You'd better ask Mrs. Boulter," said Anne thoughtlessly. "Ithink it's likely she knows more about the process than I do.""I will, the next time I see her," said Davy gravely.
"Davy! If you do!" cried Anne, realizing her mistake.
"But you just told me to," protested Davy aggrieved.
"It's time you went to bed," decreed Anne, by way of getting out of the scrape.
After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island and sat there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the water laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind.
Anne had always loved that brook. Many a dream had she spun over its sparkling water in days gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne speeches of malicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish existence. In imagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant shining shores of "faery lands forlorn," where lost Atlantis and Elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart's Desire. And she was richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
