In the end Davy was sent to bed, as usual, there to remain until noon next day.  He evidently did some thinking, for when Anne went up to her room a little later she heard him calling her name softly.  Going in, she found him sitting up in bed, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his hands.

“Anne,” he said solemnly, “is it wrong for everybody to tell whop . . . falsehoods?  I want to know?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Is it wrong for a grown-up person?”

“Yes.”

“Then,” said Davy decidedly, “Marilla is bad, for she tells them.  And she’s worse’n me, for I didn’t know it was wrong but she does.”

“Davy Keith, Marilla never told a story in her life,” said Anne indignantly.

“She did so.  She told me last Tuesday that something dreadful would happen to me if I didn’t say my prayers every night.  And I haven’t said them for over a week, just to see what would happen . . . and nothing has,” concluded Davy in an aggrieved tone.

Anne choked back a mad desire to laugh with the conviction that it would be fatal, and then earnestly set about saving Marilla’s reputation.

“Why, Davy Keith,” she said solemnly, “something dreadful has happened to you this very day.”

Davy looked sceptical.

“I s’pose you mean being sent to bed without any supper,” he said scornfully, “but that isn’t dreadful.  Course, I don’t like it, but I’ve been sent to bed so much since I come here that I’m getting used to it.  And you don’t save anything by making me go without supper either, for I always eat twice as much for breakfast.”

“I don’t mean your being sent to bed.  I mean the fact that you told a falsehood today.  And, Davy,” . . .  Anne leaned over the footboard of the bed and shook her finger impressively at the culprit . . . “for a boy to tell what isn’t true is almost the worst thing that could happen to him . . . almost the very worst.  So you see Marilla told you the truth.”

“But I thought the something bad would be exciting,” protested Davy in an injured tone.

“Marilla isn’t to blame for what you thought.  Bad things aren’t always exciting.  They’re very often just nasty and stupid.”

“It was awful funny to see Marilla and you looking down the well, though,” said Davy, hugging his knees.

Anne kept a sober face until she got downstairs and then she collapsed on the sitting room lounge and laughed until her sides ached.

“I wish you’d tell me the joke,” said Marilla, a little grimly.  “I haven’t seen much to laugh at today.”

“You’ll laugh when you hear this,” assured Anne.  And Marilla did laugh, which showed how much her education had advanced since the adoption of Anne.  But she sighed immediately afterwards.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have told him that, although I heard a minister say it to a child once.  But he did aggravate me so.  It was that night you were at the Carmody concert and I was putting him to bed.  He said he didn’t see the good of praying until he got big enough to be of some importance to God.  Anne, I do not know what we are going to do with that child.  I never saw his beat.  I’m feeling clean discouraged.”