XX

The Way It Often Happens

Anne rose betimes the next morning and blithely greeted the fresh day, when the banners of the sunrise were shaken triumphantly across the pearly skies.  Green Gables lay in a pool of sunshine, flecked with the dancing shadows of poplar and willow.  Beyond the land was Mr. Harrison’s wheatfield, a great, windrippled expanse of pale gold.  The world was so beautiful that Anne spent ten blissful minutes hanging idly over the garden gate drinking the loveliness in.

After breakfast Marilla made ready for her journey.  Dora was to go with her, having been long promised this treat.

“Now, Davy, you try to be a good boy and don’t bother Anne,” she straitly charged him.  “If you are good I’ll bring you a striped candy cane from town.”

For alas, Marilla had stooped to the evil habit of bribing people to be good!

“I won’t be bad on purpose, but s’posen I’m bad zacksidentally?” Davy wanted to know.

“You’ll have to guard against accidents,” admonished Marilla.  “Anne, if Mr. Shearer comes today get a nice roast and some steak.  If he doesn’t you’ll have to kill a fowl for dinner tomorrow.”

Anne nodded.

“I’m not going to bother cooking any dinner for just Davy and myself today,” she said.  “That cold ham bone will do for noon lunch and I’ll have some steak fried for you when you come home at night.”

“I’m going to help Mr. Harrison haul dulse this morning,” announced Davy.  “He asked me to, and I guess he’ll ask me to dinner too.  Mr. Harrison is an awful kind man.  He’s a real sociable man.  I hope I’ll be like him when I grow up.  I mean behave like him . . .  I don’t want to look like him.  But I guess there’s no danger, for Mrs. Lynde says I’m a very handsome child.  Do you s’pose it’ll last, Anne?  I want to know?”

“I daresay it will,” said Anne gravely.  “You are a handsome boy, Davy,” . . .  Marilla looked volumes of disapproval . . . “but you must live up to it and be just as nice and gentlemanly as you look to be.”

“And you told Minnie May Barry the other day, when you found her crying ’cause some one said she was ugly, that if she was nice and kind and loving people wouldn’t mind her looks,” said Davy discontentedly.  “Seems to me you can’t get out of being good in this world for some reason or ’nother.  You just have to behave.”

“Don’t you want to be good?” asked Marilla, who had learned a great deal but had not yet learned the futility of asking such questions.

“Yes, I want to be good but not too good,” said Davy cautiously.  “You don’t have to be very good to be a Sunday School superintendent.  Mr. Bell’s that, and he’s a real bad man.”

“Indeed he’s not,” said Marila indignantly.

“He is . . . he says he is himself,” asseverated Davy.  “He said it when he prayed in Sunday School last Sunday.  He said he was a vile worm and a miserable sinner and guilty of the blackest ’niquity.  What did he do that was so bad, Marilla?  Did he kill anybody?  Or steal the collection cents?  I want to know.”